Kira's Kingdom
by Mercurial Weather
Summary: Everyone believes Kira's gone forever. Then a woman called Oath appears claiming that he's coming back on 28-01-20. Who can stop him? Some friendships last a lifetime.But when a mind meets its match, some enmities transcend even death.
1. The Herald of a Golden Age

_Eight years have passed since Kira stopped judging; even his most faithful supporters have come to believe he's gone forever. Then a woman called Oath appears claiming that he's coming back on 28-01-20. Who can stop him? Some friendships last a lifetime. But when a mind meets its match, some enmities may transcend even death._

_**AN: This fanfic is done with the uttermost respect. I don't cla**__**im ownership of the characters -not even the ones I made up, they seem like natural conclusions to a train of thought which is not entirely mine. And, of course, I don't lay claim on the concept or anything else. It's just that I feel there are too many loose ends. I need closure -the HTR didn't suffice- and frankly, for me at least, the end was, humph, lets say less than satisfactory. Hence this is just me trying to cope with the deprivation syndrome of my Death Note-Light-L addiction. There are lots of spoilers so, if you haven't read Obata's and Ohba's to its bitter end and "don't want to know", refrain from reading mine.  
This is a second draft, but all I've changed is Black's age for reasons explained in Scroll 10. And all the chapters thus affected have the following tag: (Second draft).**_

**Kira's Kingdom**

**Scroll 1: The Herald of a Golden Age (Second draft)**

_**1.1 Best served cold:**_

_England, January 29th 2010, Wammy's House:_

"He did it!"

"Did he?"

"I knew it!"

"That's it, isn't it? Is official then? He's L now!"

"I wonder what Mello has to say about that."

"Didn't you hear? He's dead!"

"Dead?"

"Yes, he and Matt died trying to catch Kira."

"I'll kill him!" cried out a bespectacled blond

"Too late, he's already dead."

"I'm glad! He was evil, he hurt L…I mean the other L." said a redheaded waif placing her thumb over her lower lip.

The whispers ran up and down the line of boys and girls entering the house from the yard. One of the boys stopped briefly at the game room's door and cried out to the children that were playing inside. He said that they were celebrating by having strawberry and chocolate sponge cake and everyone should come.

Origin, an eight-year-old brunette, got up from the carpet. She had heard all, her little body waddled more than usual while she walked trembling towards the fortress she had been raising and angrily kicked the diminutive building blocks.

Her shinny eyes looked crossly at the scattered bits of plastic. Then she half-kneeled once more and with incredible speed she raised another three towers spelling out R-I-P. She took a blow at the letters standing there, taunting her. Finally she turned around to follow her classmates. She stopped after walking just a few steps. She couldn't leave the blocks just lying there. She stifled a shiver. She just couldn't stand the mess. With a frustrated sigh coming out from her pouty lips, she began placing the building blocks in neat stacks. When she was done she followed the other kids, grabbing Molly from a pile of dolls. Before opening the door of the dinning room she bit her lip hard and tried not to let her tears show.

_**1.2 Night Visitor:**_

_Geneva, January 28th 2011, Ecole Bénédict:_

The man with the bright eyes had come to her that night. She made a note in her diary as soon as she woke up so she wouldn't forget anything of what he had told her. Ophelia wrote the note in English; though she wasn't sure about the spelling of most of the words. She blushed intently, even if her teachers insisted on the importance of learning that particular language –from among the four that were part of her Swiss boarding school's curricula- she'd never really excelled in it. Looking at her own lonely reflection in the middle of the night she could admit that had a lot to do with her dislike of it. Though the small fib she had often used when talking to her tutors about the particular wasn't that far removed from the truth. She much preferred the musicality of Italian or the lyricism of French. But English had been the language the man had spoken in.

She closed her eyes and tried to recall what the man had looked like. He was a handsome man but she had never dreamt of handsome men in the twelve years she had dwelled on this world. Nor she wanted to; she had more important things to think about.

Ophelia knew that much about the man that had come to visit her, he was important. That somehow dampened the uneasy feeling that the vision had left. Even if the interview had been perfectly innocent there was something wicked in the idea of an older man visiting her at night in her bedroom. Plus she wouldn't want to fall prey of one of the follies she abhorred the most in the other girls she forcibly shared a life with. Take Eliza, her roommate, for example, Ophelia had always found it incredibly pathetic that the girl had a more busy social life while unconscious than she did while she was awake. But this man was different; this wasn't like the dreams her foolish classmates used to have.

She had been chosen for greatness and she loved the thought. She'd always known that she was special. In any case, she wasn't an ordinary girl and that was obvious to anyone who had eyes. She was already doing the courses to get the maturité fédérale socio-économique diploma, four years earlier than most of her classmates.

She felt pride in her analytical abilities so she tried to figure out where the man had come from. He looked a bit Asian, but she didn't know anything about accents that could help her narrowing it further down. He was smart and well educated, it was clear that he was not a native English speaker but he spoke it with ease. She blushed again and finished writing the man's message on her diary. She thought it best to transcribe exactly what he had said and then she'd try to translate it to German. Getting the message right was more important than anything else.

Not even for a moment did she doubt he had been real. Still, it's amazing that she had no clue about the man's identity, especially after he had delivered his grandiose speech. That issue was easily clarified if you met Ophelia's nana. The woman was old school, to say the least, and had made certain that her grandchild was kept in the uttermost ignorance about the world's ways. The people in the boarding school had exceeded the old hag's wildest expectations, and had succeeded at keeping Ophelia completely out of the loop while grooming her for taking care of the family business. To anyone else, that hadn't been under a rock for the past seven years, the man's identity would have been more than evident.

_**1.3 Misbegotten Missionary:**_

_Scilly, February 13 2011, a hotel room in St Mary's__ Island:_

Oath was born on a cool winter night while the sky battled furiously with the sea. And she was born with the same rage as the storm that convoluted the world surrounding her. The minute the deal was done, she'd turned around to face him- with her beautiful features blazing, reflecting the lighting glow that came through the window. And her first act in life was to have a whispered discussion with her nightly gentleman caller.

"I'm not a puppet! I'm an ally!"

"You are a little girl, and you can't possibly understand this fully."

She was petite and that was why most people thought she was younger than the fifteen years she had. But she'd never felt like a little girl, not even when she still crawled on the carpet. She snorted: "You supercilious bastard! Is that why you picked me up?"

"Manners, my dear, there's no need to get personal. Our meeting was destiny made."

"Hah! Does that actually work?"

"Huh?"

"Say that line to one of your bimbos. Oh wait. You can't, can you? One is dead and the other one is brainless. And brainless won't cut it out for you, not anymore. Now you need more active, trustworthy collaborators, don't you?"

"I don't know what on earth you are talking about." He said narrowing his eyes.

She didn't bother with his charade. She got up from the desk's chair and walked towards the bed carrying her laptop and she placed the screen facing him. She showed him file after file, watching him closely. Once or twice anger flashed in his deep eyes but he kept his cool. Apparently, he had learnt a lesson or two after dying.

"As you see, some of it is purely speculative. But I'm reasonably certain this is the truth. By the way, I've erased most of the records. Well, what those dumbarses in the police had left behind. Those coppers were rather sloppy. Don't you hate that? If I could find it, anyone else can. Though I've wondered why he didn't make sure that everything was erased. I can't help thinking some of it was left on purpose. I doubt that he would leave any trace if he didn't mean to, is almost as if he wanted us to find them."

"He? Us? You erased _most_ of them?"

"He, and don't pretend not to know who I'm talking about. I've told you I'm not stupid. And it's us from now on, like it or not we are in this together. My suspicion that it was left on purpose is the reason why I didn't erase them all. I wasn't going to take that bait, if that's what this is. Don't worry. You can trust me. Then again, I know you won't. But it's not as if you really had a choice. I was very careful choosing what to erase. I muddled the water by putting in exchange some false information. Nothing major or that could be easily identifiable as false, but I picked up facts that would seem innocent and that can actually be quite harmful to anyone following our tracks. Some of it, I couldn't help it, I left untouched. Of course I did try to make the deletion appear random. And I scattered the remaining tidbits as much as I dared."

"You've been at it since the beginning." He didn't sound accusing, he stated it matter-of-factly.

"Of course, I wouldn't be of any use to you if I were the kind of person who'd get into this sort of deal without thinking it through. I wanted to know what kind of partner I was getting in the boat with." She matched his tone.

He raised an eyebrow when she said partner but didn't comment until she was finished: "So tell me, Oath. If you knew all this, why did you go through with it?" It seemed almost like a rhetorical question, as if he already knew the answer.

"I've already told you. And you know it well, or neither of us would be here. I'm an ally. I won't get on my knees and worship you, but I believe in your ideals. I'm also willing to sacrifice myself to bring them to completion. And, more importantly, I'm able to carry your plan through. Let me warn you though, I'm willing to be Kira's Herald but I'm not your plaything. I don't want to be the queen of your chessboard. I don't aspire to be your consort goddess or whatever you're calling them these days. This is a partnership among equals. Is that understood, Ghost?"

Under the night's canopy, illuminated both by stars and lighting, the little girl faced the man that once had been a god and was now a shadow. They both stood their ground, not taking their eyes from each other's faces.

He looked at her and after a few seconds of silence, he held her chin in his fingers, making her rise her face higher while he leaned closer.

"I wouldn't bother trying that if I were you. It won't work either."

Her voice was firm but he could feel her trembling slightly under his fingers: "You've made your point perfectly clear, Oath. And we've lost enough time with this discussion. Shall we proceed?"

She gulped and shook away from his grasp. Then she took a deep breath, let her nightgown fall down to the floor and lay on the bed: "Let's get this over with."

She was lying on her belly and couldn't see his evil grin: '_Let her think what she wants. She most certainly isn't a puppet, she is a tool. A blade, but not like those soulless western swords. No, in time I'll make her be a well honed katana. She'll be a fine instrument of my wrath. Even now, as blunt as she is, she has become the most powerful weapon the world has ever known. She lies in my hand and this time I won't let her slip 'til my enemies' heads fall to the dust.'_

He caressed her back and felt her shiver under his cold touch. His smile widened as he whispered in her ear: "If you need to scream; do it in the pillow."

"That's hilarious. You're quite the funny man. Just do it already. I won't scream." She spat out every word through clenched teeth.

She didn't scream, her steel proved better than that. She put a stiff upper lip partially to prove her worth to the Ghost and partially because her big brother was sleeping in the other room, separated by a paper-thin wall. Matthew's snoring helped keep her focused and she didn't make a sound while he passed the needle over her skin. But she breathed in deeply every time he wiped the blood from her back with his hand. At least, lying flat on her belly, Oath was spared the sight of the cruel spirit she had struck a deal with. From the smile on his face you could tell that he couldn't help enjoying it every time the needle went deeper and she winced in pain.

After a while that seemed to span for ages he straightened up and said: "It's done. Tomorrow we'll see if it worked."

But he needed no confirmation, and neither did she. All the time he had scribbled on her back she'd felt gushes of death wind going down her spine. It was done, she knew it and he knew it too. He went away to let her rest. Before falling asleep, Oath thought: '_If you think you can use me and then drop me as you've always done before, you are in for a nasty surprise.'_

_**1.4 Aimless drifting:**_

_Japan, February 14th 2011, Shuzenji, last station of the Sunzu line in the Izu-hakone railway:_

Misa Amane was supposed to go straight back to the Arai Ryokan once she finished visiting the Shuzenji Temple. She had listened absentmindedly to the private tour guide that tried to get her interested in the temple's history. The guy was kind of cute and he seemed enthusiastic about what he called one of the oldest structures in eastern Japan. The original structure dated back to 807, he pointed out with a wide smile.

Misa acted her part and gave him a lukewarm smile. Her agency had sent her for shooting a commercial the previous day and they had generously offered to pay if she wanted to stay one more day. She didn't have a Valentine that year. She glued on the fake smile as she felt increasingly depressed.

She always thought about Light-kun but on that day she couldn't get him out of her mind. The fact that he had died a hero, something that usually helped her get through the day, didn't seem important today. All she could feel was a great emptiness. She couldn't help remembering her last conversation with Rem, when she had told her that her life would be pointless without Light.

She was thinking that she should get back to the ryokan and hit the hot-water springs. That way she could relax. Afterwards, she'd order a bottle of wine and some fancy dinner on the company's expense account. '_The hell with that!'_ she thought bitterly. She'd order sake and get blind drunk.

Misa didn't very well know how she had ended taking the wrong bus. She climbed on the one that led to the train station. The place was deserted, not really hard to understand on Valentine's day at seven o'clock, when the best date time was just starting. Misa felt a dark shroud falling over her head as she started walking purposefully, still, she would probably have cried howling if the train hadn't hit her as she fell off the platform.

The railroad employee and an elderly couple, who were the only eye witnesses of the incident, were sure it hadn't been an accident. They told the police that for a moment the girl hadn't seemed aware of where she was. Then she had started walking towards the edge. She didn't jump; she just kept walking and was caught midair by the train that just happened to be rushing into the station.

_**Next: Scroll 2**__**- Living in a grey world: NPA and Near meet again when Oath throws the gauntlet in the famous detective's face and the countdown towards 28-01-20 begins.**_


	2. Living in a grey world

_**AN: First, thanks for reviews. Second, the chapter is a bit long but it couldn't be avoided since I needed the space to introduce some of my characters, so I ended up posting it as Scroll 2 and 3. Also, I'm having trouble deciding on what spelling to use for some names. If you prefer Raito to Light or Mero to Mello, please do tell me; in any case**__**, I'll try to be consistent and stick to one or the other.**_

**Kira's Kingdom**

**Scroll 2: Living in a grey world**

_**2.1 White:**_

_Lausanne, October 12th 2013, University of Lausanne, Department of Psychology:_

Being the youngest in her promotion had some advantages. For example: she was allowed to have a room just for herself, which made it easier to hide the nightly visits she had. And also, like everything else in this wretched world, it had its disadvantages. Those included that her nana felt she was entitled to supervise every single detail of her "sojourn" in college. Sojourn was the exact word nana used. As if Ophelia were having a vacation from being the perfect lady in order to get yet another asset that would increase the potential value she had and that would help her in catching an appropriate groom.

All her life she had been led to think her education was of capital importance because it would allow her to be able to manage her inheritance. Even a cursory revision of the Reisenbach's state had left her with the conviction that her path was set and that she had no choice but to become a competent administrator. But it turned out that wasn't the case, she was supposed to get a degree in Arts or something else that would look nice in a frame but that wouldn't threaten to damage the real objective of Ophelia's existence: marrying someone who could increase the family fortune and social standing. In theory, she and the prospective husband would have enough to pay for professionals who'd deal with the everyday fuss of managing a load of cash.

If her nana had said that to her a couple of years before, she would have acquiesced with certain sadness and ended up studying something she had no interest in. Unfortunately for Frau Reisenbach, her grandchild's "extracurricular" activities had been preparing Ophelia for ascertaining herself. After a terrible "row" that her nana had left "on the verge of dying" from her grandchild's "sheer stubbornness", Ophelia was allowed to pursue a career in psychology.

After all, psychology was non-threatening enough and could be passed as an acceptable activity for a lady, according to nana's outdated notions. It also turned out to be a career choice that the gentleman caller approved. In fact, he thought it was a superb option that played on Ophelia's natural abilities. Then he told her he needed her to develop all of her strengths, and she was eager to please him. She strove to become a well rounded individual.

Her grandma agreed with Juvenal, up to a point, on the principle of: a healthy mind in a healthy body. Nana would have loved that she had continued with her Ballet lessons. It might even be possible she wouldn't have minded if she had chosen something more "questionable", like Jazz. But still there were some activities that were out of the scope her nana would consider appropriate for her, mastering the Brazilian martial art known as Capoeira was definitely one of those.

This time there was no row. This time her grandma had really been on the verge of dying. Nothing in the old lady's life experience had prepared her for seeing her grandchild inside the _roda_ (Capoeira circle). When they were able to reanimate her she told Ophelia that she could no longer recognize her.

Ophelia had to agree wholeheartedly. When she was in the game, she couldn't even recognize herself. It had been a blessing that her nana had arrived when they were just starting. She couldn't imagine what would have happened if Frau Reisenbach had walked on her a few minutes later and had seen her fighting. When nana had arrived the _Mestre_ was just singing the _ladainha_ while they cockily displayed their moves:

"_Oi a força de uma Capoeira, colega velho, ninguém vai poder tirar. Oi a força de uma Capoeira, colega velho, ninguém vai poder tirar. Porque já nasce com ele, a força que Deus lhe dá. O mundo pode dar volta, porque volta o mundo dá, não existe uma rasteira, que possa lha derrubar. A guerreira da Senzala tem a força no seu cantar; tem o jogo de uma guria. Oxalá nos traz o bem, leva pra longe o mal, camarada._"

(See the power of a Capoeira player, old fellow; nobody is going to take it away. See the power of a Capoeira player, old fellow; nobody is going to take it away. Because a Capoeira player is born with it, the power that God gives her. The world can turn around, because the world does turn, but there's no trip that can make her fall. The _Senzala_ warrior has the power in her singing. She has the agility and the free motion of a child. _Oxalá _brings us good and takes away the evil, pal.)

Of course her nana demanded to have an interview with her tutor. The poor guy was aghast. By the time the old lady had finished calling him every synonym of incompetent she could think of and making threats to his life, career and chance to have a progeny if her grandchild was allowed to pursue that pagan game, all that was left of him was a pale trembling shell of the man he had been at the beginning of the interview.

He was promptly avenged, though that was just a byproduct of Ophelia's counter block to her nana's threats. She stated that if she wasn't allowed to practice in the open she would take one of the many offers she had for pursing the game in one of the profitable illegal rings that were near the college. The tutor and her nana had face-faulted. Then nana recuperated and menaced to call the police on her. Ophelia had shrugged and calmly said that, in the off case they could find the illegal _roda_, then nana would have the pleasure of seeing her granddaughter's picture on the papers. Then she had smiled wickedly and pointed out it wouldn't be in the Society section.

That was a defining moment for Ophelia. That was the first battle she'd ever won over Frau Reisenbach. That was also the final straw that her tutor needed to make the decision of abandoning women altogether and pursuing other interests. He had been scared to death by the old hag, but he had been positively horrified by the little girl. The fact that he used to have some romantic ideation about the pale lovable brunette that graced his desk every other Friday, made him shiver. Who knows the depths of a woman's soul?

Ophelia was glad she could continue practicing the game because she really believed Capoeira was a useful skill that was going to help her in her set path. And because she needed the _rodas_, they were the only place where she could breathe. After her first semester she had a name for what happened to her whenever she played: catharsis. Everything she had suppressed through her cautious upbringing, every pent up feeling was poured into the circle. She was cleansed by it.

But there was something else. From the moment she had witnessed her first capoeria session she had been enthralled with everything about the game. She felt she had come back home. She loved her new name, the one she had gotten during her batizado: Branca (White). And she loved the feeling of power she got every single time that the berimbas started to play and the hands started to clap.

Plus she was made for it. Inside the _roda_ Ophelia disappeared. Inside the _roda_ Branca became deadly efficiency. Branca was fearless. Branca knew when to move away or when to close in. She knew when to kick, when to sweep, when to fake, when to duck, roll or evade. Branca knew how do _au batido_, an evasive cartwheel that turns into a blocking kick and gets you the upper hand when your opponent thinks he's already won.

Branca knew instinctively that hands were for creating and feet were for destroying, that was why she refused to wear socks to feel the strength of the world on her skin. Branca was a master of _malandragem_, the art of trickery. She knew how to do a flurry of feints and fakes to trick her opponent into responding wrongly. Branca knew when she had no choice but doing the _chamada_ (the calling). That was risky and experienced players did it only in a ritualistic manner with other players they trusted. But Branca took risks most wouldn't. She knew all that could be lost with what was sometimes called the game within the game. Getting close to your opponent, walking side by side with them, could mean you'd lose. She really hated that, but sometimes it was the only way to give your team the chance to win. Branca was ready to sacrifice herself for the bigger picture.

Branca knew that every game is but a reflection in a smaller scale of the battle between contraries. And what biggest dichotomy could you find than good versus evil? She also knew which field she was playing for and felt confident that justice will always prevail.

Capoeira was teaching her self-esteem, it was teaching her control and honor. It was teaching her when she should act and when countenance was a better strategy. In spite of the playfulness of the game, which might lead a casual observer to think there was nothing more to it, the fact was that in the roda Ophelia was training to become a soldier for the upcoming battle.

The shadow that was in command of one of the sides liked to watch her practice. There was something really pleasing in seen that lanky child doing the _ginga _(the basic move which involves crouching and swinging back and forth). There was an eerie familiarity in the figure she cut with her white sweatshirt and pants that nearly covered her bare feet. She appeared clumsy, waddling awkwardly. Her dark curls in disarray forming a halo around her head. Her face was blank as she saw through whoever was facing her. In reality her blank face came from focus. A focus that allowed her to perceive every little detail and predict steps ahead her opponent's moves while giving out nothing of her own thoughts.

She didn't look it but she was really dangerous. That was all part of the strategy and it was due to the fact that she abandoned herself in the game. But her youthful vulnerable looks tended to make her opponents think that she would be easy to beat. The man knew better. He had once met a guy who fought just like her and, in the end, responding to his calling, letting himself be drawn to the roda, had cost him his life. The fact that the other guy had fallen first and that the rest of the guy's _team_ had had to gang on him to win, did nothing to mollify the chagrin he felt over his defeat.

_**2.2 Black:**_

_UK, February 26th 2014, UCL, Department of Economics:_

They walked down the hallway. They've just come out of their ethics class. The tall blond was telling the petite brunette that she shouldn't get angry.

"I get angry because some people are stupid. They think they are better than anyone just because they use big words to express sanctioned opinions. They repeat the lesson like parrots and say what they think won't be controversial or questioned. I'm not even sure they believe in all those bollocks. And when someone dares to defend an original thought, then they pretend to be horrified, even if they know that person is right."

"First of all, your ideas are usually very controversial. And yet you expect people to pick sides. Ma puce, I can't speak for everyone else, but frankly, in most instances, I can't choose. You just can't blurt out that all rapists should be emasculated then left to bleed to death and expect everyone to agree with you. Generalizations are dangerous and, when human lives are involved, I think that you have to see things in a case by case basis."

"Oh sure, that's easy to say when you're not the victim of the crime. You can be so cool because the one being raped isn't you, your sister, your mom or that Ukrainian harlot you call a girlfriend!"

"There can be some attenuating circumstances. Accidents happen, you know?"

"You mean to tell me that it is possible to accidentally rape someone?"

"No, of course not, but your only response to _any_ crime is usually a death sentence. Even in the case that the crime was done on purpose, killing the guy won't undo the deed. And I sincerely doubt the value of that type of punishment as a deterrent."

"Anyone who purposefully commits a heinous crime doesn't deserve to live and most human beings value their own pitiful existences above all else, so they can be manipulated through fear. Don't tell me you don't see the fairness of that argument."

He ignored her. He was sick and tire of trying to come up with a definition of fair that would work for both of them: "Second, the thought isn't that original. I don't think those even exist. There's nothing new under the sun. What's the difference between that and the centuries old eye for an eye type of justice? That leads nowhere; in the end you have a world of popeyed."

"That's a cheap shot. The daily quote won't get you out of it. That was supposed to be an ethics class, so it's ultimately about righteousness or evil. And when it comes to that you have to pick sides. You're either with us or against us. An eye is a little price to pay for justice."

"Us?"

"The righteous, that is to say those who stand against the evil."

"And tell me, petite: Who gets to decide which is which? _You?_ Isn't the world supposed to be designed to allow us all to choose our own damnation? The last time I checked, free will hadn't expired. Plus I wouldn't be too sure about the righteous, remember the path to hell is paved with good intentions."

"I'm not joking. This is too important to joke around."

"I know that you aren't joking. That's your problem, you are far too serious. You lack the flexibility to joke about anything. If the world ever needed to laugh about something those are the so called important things." He placed his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm not a zealot. I'm just able to tell right from wrong. Sometimes it seems that some people forget how to do it." She narrowed her eyes, swept his hand off her shoulder and gave him the evil eye.

He had to fight back the need to get away from her. He had to remind himself of how young she really was. She was a brilliant little prodigy and sometimes it was easy to forget she was just 18. Nevertheless, there were times when looking at her he couldn't convince himself that her points of view were a product of youthful enthusiasm. Sometimes he was convinced that girl really believed what she said with an adult's conviction and the willingness to face the consequences. Those were the times when he just wanted to make a run for it. Pushing those thoughts aside, he patted her back and said: "Life is not black or white. We live in a world of grey, ma puce."

Sometimes Jules got on her nerves. She'd always been self-conscious about her height. She knew that the blond didn't mean anything by calling her flea; it was supposed to be a term of endearment. But the fact that he was almost 6 inches taller, several years older and spoke to her with condescendence, made her want to strangle him.

"Is that so? Well, I don't like grey."

"And what do you plan to do about it? You can't change the world just because it displeases you."

"You'd be surprised."

Her smile made his stomach churn. They had arrived at her dorm's door. He said he needed to go elsewhere. Sometimes it was better to take her in small doses.

Oath saw Jules leave, inwardly laughing at his cowardice. She thought that most people were weak and would just do whatever the leader would say was right. That's why it is so important that the correct person rules.

She indolently leaned on the couch. It was a Friday's afternoon which meant her roommate wasn't showing her face until next Monday. She had time to act.

Anyone who has had to hide needle marks would tell you one of the quickest ways is to put them where people don't usually look for them. And Oath had also mastered the art of writing without looking at what she was doing. She had just finished writing the "n" and the "a" on her nape when he appeared, as if she had summoned him.

Before he could shout at her for disobeying him, she'd stood up and hugged him. That made him freeze on his tracks. Smiling wickedly, she yelled out: "Happy Birthday Kira!"

He looked at her through those slanting eyes of his: "What do you think you are doing?"

She turned around pulling her hair up and letting him see: "I know it's a little bit early, but I thought you'd be happy to know I've managed to learn your enemy's name. And, of course, what I thought I'd do is killing him."

"You know you have to know his face too."

"Oh, I've done some research about that too."

"I can't imagine what you pretend to obtain with this foolish display, other than bleeding. You're bluffing! You couldn't have found out a picture of him and if you had been foolish enough to try to go near him you wouldn't be here."

"Care to bet on it?" She carved the "t" and he leaned confidently against the wall. She shrugged and carved the "e", then the "r" and the "i"; but before she could carve the "v" he made her stop.

"Even if you had found out I can't believe you would resort to such a cheap trick to win."

She dropped the needle and he smiled, but she didn't smile back. She turned around and snapped at him: "I knew it! Even now, after what you've been through, it's just a game for you! And even after all we've been through you still don't trust me. You knew his name from the beginning and kept it to yourself. For you all this is a matter of who is supposedly better. Have you learnt nothing?"

"I'm wiser than you, little girl. I know that even if you get him out of the picture someone will pick up the mantle. Unless you make sure that L is utterly defeated then anything you do will be useless. And if you do it now they'll be on the look out. You are stupid to even consider it."

"I agree it'd be stupid to kill Nate River because in the end he is not L. L, unlike Kira, is something bigger than a person. It is a legacy! People die; legacies live on, which, incidentally, brings us to the reason why your big plan failed last time. I've figured it out."

"Have you? That's another sign of your immaturity. It's easy to criticize ex post facto. Only lowlifes bluster about what they would have done about something when they know all the facts. But true greatness is achieved when you are able to act rightfully with little information."

"But you weren't able, were you? Calm down, Ghost. I agree that given what you knew at the time you did the best you could. What I'm saying is that your plan was doomed from the get go because you overlooked a major flaw."

"Did I? And I suppose that now you will point it out to me." He could barely control the anger in his voice.

"That's why I called you. If I could have found another way to do so, I wouldn't have to sleep face downwards tonight. You would think that eventually I would get used to the pain. Oh well, the problem with you is not the planning, the problem with you is ego."

"Ego!"

"Yes, your problem is that big fat inflated ego of yours. Look at your enemies. You are right. They are like cockroaches, step on one and two will come forth. Even if you had managed to best the second litter, they would have kept coming. All you managed was to get yourself into a situation in which they chose where you were going to have your face down. You lacked the resources they had and hence you lost. But more importantly, you weren't immortal. Eventually you would have dropped dead and, knowing you, you wouldn't have been able to find someone worthy to follow your act. No one was good enough for that according to you, so no one was chosen. Whatever the score of your little wits match would've happened to be, in the end the world would have gone to the dogs after you sooner or later. Your golden era would have lasted nothing but the span of a human life. Don't worry, you're not the first nor last to make that mistake. That has happened time and again through out the history of mankind whenever some ideal depends upon a single individual. As soon as he dies his dream goes down the drain. Your ego made you nearsighted, Ghost."

She had expected him to yell at her. She wouldn't have been surprised if his mouth had foamed and he had gone crazy on her. What she had never expected was for him to laugh.

"Girly, do you really thought I didn't know this?"

"Yes, I did. I mean, you might know it intellectually, but I still doubt that in that dark heart of yours you truly believe it."

"Oh! I see. You think you are the only one I've been in contact with. Maybe you even hoped that was the truth. That would make you especial, wouldn't it?"

Takes one to know one, controlling ego wasn't a strong point of hers either: "I… I'm glad you are not a complete waste of space. I must admit that I've underestimated you. But still you have to deal with your trust issues. I would like to meet this other girl. I think we would work better if we had direct contact."

"How do you know she is a girl and that there's only one?"

"Easy: you think female are easier to manipulate and you like to keep the reins short, so the less people involved the better. Plus you only had access to another notebook, besides me, that is."

"So you know, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. I know you were confident enough on the farfetched notions of those prudish buffoons you left behind. You knew they wouldn't dare trying out the notebooks before disposing of them. So you must have had a plan to change the one in the police headquarters for a false one. Also, I think that you're wrong in trying to keep our numbers short. I don't like the number two, as a matter of fact I think that the more the merrier. How about a nice round number like twelve? Then we'll be like the apostles."

"That's not possible; there can't be more than six notes at any given time."

"Aha! Yet another tidbit of arcane knowledge you hid from me. Don't worry. I'm not bickering, at least for now. I'm expecting company, someone I want to introduce to you. I think you will find her very helpful. Since twelve is out of the question, how do you feel about the number three?"

_**2.3 Red:**_

_Location not available, December 31st 2018, 23:00 according to Christmas Island time:_

Oriana Valencia, once known as Origin and now known as Red, got Galileo ready for the party. She was quite proud of her device, an electronic spider nested in the center of the World Wide Web. Galileo was a clever watchman whose thousand eyes could see everything that happened around the globe within the blink of an eye.

A little chronometer shaped as an egg ticked on her desk. She still had an hour to go before the New Year hit Kiribati and she had to begin transmission. Afterwards Galileo would work on his own hacking on different TV systems and making sure that each and every spot of the planet watched it at exactly 0:01 a.m. of the new year. She was all set. She had checked and double-checked to see nothing would go wrong. She stretched to relax her shoulders and then she leaned back, reminiscing the day Kira had entered her life.

From the moment she had learned of Mello's death she had suspected foul play. She had worked arduously to gain the trust of those fools at Wammy's House and had managed to get hold of the records of Kira's case. Her suspicion turned into certainty. She just couldn't believe Near hadn't played a part in manipulating Mello to act rashly. On his own Mello had no reason to kidnap Takada, so it follows that he was led to believe there wasn't any other way to take revenge for what had been done to L before that white haired vermin took the credit. He had been led to believe that time was of the essence and had then been sacrificed as a pawn in a chessboard. She hadn't known Mello personally but she admired him deeply. Poor dear Mello, who had been played and had died and not one of those bastards at Wammy's seemed to care about it. And now Origin was the only one left to avenge him.

She studied the files time and time again and came to suspect that there must be at least one notebook of death left in the world. If she managed to locate it she would easily achieve what she wanted. Unlike some of the others at Wammy's, she was a child of Machiavelli -the end justifies the means. As soon as she got hold of a Note, she would kill Near, that L impostor. But instead of finding the remaining Death Note she came across a system to track Shinigami. After a while, her efforts were noticed and Oath, aka Black, came to her. She introduced her to Kira and Origin found out that all this time she had been on the wrong side of justice. She didn't give a damn about justice, but she had shut up and had grabbed at what she thought was the best chance she had to get what she really wanted.

The egg chronometer burst open and a yellow chicken began peeping on her desk. It was time. She pushed a button whispering softly to Galileo that the time had come to paint the world red.

A girl covered with a cape and wearing a Ko-omote noh mask appeared on the screen, she said:  
"People of the world, my name is Oath. I'm Kira's Herald. To prove my claim in the bottom of your screen there will appear three names. The names of very powerful men that the police of several countries has failed to bring to justice. The police has failed, first, for lack of sufficient evidence and second, because these men have been careful enough to hide behind several false identities. These men are evil and cunning. They think they can escape the watchful eye of God. But Lord Kira sees all and his justice is far reaching. Within the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds these men will die. Their names have been inscribed in the book of death and nothing that anyone does can stop their deaths. I'll let you verify this is true. First, here there are the addresses where their corpses can be found."

The addresses flashed on the screen; then the girl was back and resumed her speech: "I'll also prove to you that Kira's judgment is fair. Along with directions to where the bodies of these three men may be found, I've sent to the Interpol what they failed to obtain on their own: conclusive evidence of these men's crimes. That will also be made available to anyone who might want it, just send your message to the following e-mail. Know that this is also the correct way to ask Kira for justice, each case will be revised and judged."

The e-mail appeared on the screen.

Then the girl was back: "You might wonder why Kira has remained silent for so many years. I have the answer: Kira died. But not a mortal man's death, as true Gods can never die in the same way humans do. I repeat: I'm not Kira. I'm just one of the numerous followers that have waited for his return since the world plunged back into chaos after he left. To all of you who'd been afraid to publicly admit your allegiance to the side of good, I tell you: repent and rejoice. Repent that you've ever doubted and faltered in your search of justice and rejoice that Kira is coming back. On January 28th of 2020 he'll be once more among us and this time he'll stay forever. In the meantime, the judgment will be carried out by his apostles who'll heal this sick world, driving out the demons from wherever they might hide and finally, as Matthew said, will raise Kira from the dead and make his Kingdom a reality. Everyone is invited to gather in the sacred places on this joyous day and celebrate his second coming."

An image of a line of people wearing capes and carrying candles was shown on the screen. Among them there was a girl, her face half-covered in shadows. She was seen kneeling near a precipice, there was no indication of where it might be. Then the camera went back to the girl with the mask.

"Finally, I have a message for L: detective, your end is Near. This night, while thinking of God, pray to the moon and beg for forgiveness of your sins. Remember Kira is compassionate, surrender to his grace, kneel before him and come join the pilgrims that'll gather to greet the New Era. I don't think you'll come though. I know you are a coward, so I'm sure you won't dare to show your face. And to further prove my intentions are pure, I'll teach you a lesson and reveal my identity to the world. Let everyone know that the righteous have nothing to fear."

She dropped the cape and took off the mask. She was young and beautiful, but at a first glance nothing else could be deduced of her, her image remained on screen for a couple of minutes and then she disappeared.


	3. Lex Talionis

_**AN: I want to publicly thank Red, my bf not my fic's character, for the quotes and for Near's New Year gift…You are so very clever, my dear (lol!). Oh, and, just so you know, all that you need to make the deductions is here or in the preceding chapters, hope you enjoy it. Also, although some of the organizations, investigative methods and such are based on their real counterparts, I must say that I took many liberties and some of it is pure hogwash.**__** Finally, since we are on the investigative agencies subject, let's play similes: The Japanese NPA is to the American FBI what the PSIA is to the CIA. Or the Japanese NPA is to the British Serious and Organized Crime Agency (Soca) what the PSIA is to the MI6. I hope that clarifies a little bit what each agency does and what are their attributions. Also, I'm going to use the contraction Interpol for the ICPO (International Criminal Police Organization) because I think that's the name most of us know it by.**_

**Kira's Kingdom**

**Scroll 3: Lex Talionis (The Law of Retribution)**

"_I send you a kaffis of mustard seed, that you may taste and acknowledge the bitterness of my victory." Alexander the Great to King Darius III  
_"_I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion." Alexander the Great quoted by Plutarch in Lives…_

_**3.1 Arguendo (For the Sake of Argument)**_

_Japan-Kanto region, January 1st 2019, old L's-NPA HQ:_

As fate had it, almost all of the former SPK and NPA members were together at L's Japanese headquarters when Oath's announcement aired. The only ones missing were Commander Rester, who had retired a couple of years before, and Ide Hideki, who had gone on to work as a private security advisor for a large company.

The Japanese Public Security Intelligence Agency, PSIA, had summoned the great detective to aid them in stopping a plan by the cult group Aleph, previously known as Aum Shinrikyo. They were planning to "celebrate" the 24th anniversary of the Sarin gas attacks on the Tokyo subway by immersing the country in chaos using electromagnetic bombs. The bombs were supposedly being developed by their Russian Branch. That intelligence had started a race to prevent the Russians from sending the devices to Japan before March 20th. L-Near requested the aid of the people in the NPA with whom he had previously worked.

Gevanni and Halle were there as representatives of the FBI and the CIA since both agencies wanted to follow closely the terrorist group that claimed to have workable weapons that used an electromagnetic pulse.

L-Near hadn't changed much. He had retained his youthful looks, he barely looked twenty when, in reality, he was nearing thirty. He still liked to play with all sort of toys, the latest being a go board with white and black river stones. And since the Kira's case, he had taken to munching chocolate bars once in a while.

There were two new additions to his permanent staff. One was a new Watari. They had known he wasn't the same from the moment they'd heard him. Even through the distortion that hid his true voice; he had quite a youthful way of speaking. Near had explained that he had replaced the second Watari who had died of natural causes. The second addition came as a surprise to everyone but especially to Matsuda. Near said that he had realized he needed an executor, someone who could act, react and move around while he analyzed the facts. His right hand turned out to be a tall curvatious young blonde called B, who had introduced herself as Near's wife.

"That's impossible! The world has gone mad if L finds such a tasty wife while I, Matsuda Tota, remain single!"

Actually he had married and got a bitter divorce a couple of years later. He didn't like to talk about it because it would be tantamount to admitting he had failed at Love and he fancied himself the expert on that subject. He only realized he had spoken out-loud when he looked at the shocked expressions on his coworkers' faces. Only L and B remained impassible. Matsuda tried to cover his faux pas by grabbing B's hand, kissing it and saying: "I bet B stands for beautiful. You are such a lucky man L."

Chief Aizawa was about to bellow that Matsuda should shut up and stop embarrassing them when he heard B laugh.

It took all of her concentration to remain calmed and not rub a hanky over her hand. She couldn't decide which was worst, this guy's stupidity or his sleazy cheap conqueror tone. Somehow she managed to keep the smile on her face: "There's no need for formality. You may call me Bianca. I hope we can all work well together."

They had worked well. After a three months chase the team had apprehended two terrorists' cells and had gained evidence against the fifteen cult leaders. They also managed to secure the devices just as the year ended. It was too late to go back home so they had made their way back to HQ and were pleasantly surprised by B with a New Year's dinner.

The blonde was wearing a stunning white gown. And as Matsuda ogled her neckline trying to get a better look at her bust, in what he supposed was a discreet way, B breathed in. She thought that, if he continued doing it, she wasn't going to be able to resist the impulse of bashing his head against the wall with a round kick.

They were sited at the table when they were alerted by Watari to turn on the TV. He said that the same message was being transmitted around the world. Near touched a button and a wall lifted up revealing a panel of screens. They all watched the transmission with a sense of dread:

"People of the world; my name is Oath. I'm Kira's Herald. To prove my claim in the bottom of your screen there are three names, the names of very powerful men that the police of several countries has failed to bring to justice… But the Lord Kira sees all and his justice is far reaching. Within the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds these men will die. Their names have been inscribed in the book of death and nothing that anyone does can stop this. …Finally, I have a message for L: detective, your end is Near. This night, while thinking of God, pray to the moon and beg for forgiveness of your sins. Remember Kira is compassionate, surrender to his grace, kneel before him and come join the pilgrims that'll gather to greet the New Era. I don't think you'll come though. I know you are a coward, so I'm sure you won't dare to show your face. And to further prove my intentions are pure, I'll teach you a lesson and reveal my identity to the world. Let everyone know that the righteous have nothing to fear."

After it had ended they all sat in a stunned silence.

Aizawa was the one to break it: "It has to be a hoax! No one can return from the dead and we are the only ones who knew who Kira was."

Near pushed away the half eaten dinner plate and placed his go board on the table. He picked up a black felt tip crayon, wrote something on a white stone and set it down. Then he picked a black stone and marked it with a white felt tip crayon. He carried on doing it while he spoke: "It isn't a hoax, and they wanted us to realize this right away. Among all the religious idiocy the references to the death book might pass unnoticed, but we all know better. That's their way of telling us they know how the first Kira killed. Also they are telling us they know about the rules of the book of death and they did so by using the 6 minutes and 40 seconds line. Finally, the girl is not claiming to be Kira, she said she was his Herald. But she also took great care to tell us that they know the identity of the first Kira."

Mogi frowned: "But she never mentioned anything about it. Though she probably knows who you are, if we can guess from what she said: your end is near."

"Of course they did. Chief Aizawa, would you mind confirming that these kanji are the correct spelling for Light Yagami's name? Also, could you please tell the rest what these kanji stand for?"

Aizawa looked at the go tiles and slowly nodded: "I see. We are facing a devious foe. The name Yagami Raito is made up of three kanji: Yoru which stands for night, Kami which stands for God and Tsuki which stands for Moon/Light and is read as Raito."

Halle closed her eyes and fought the urge of rubbing them, she was getting a headache: "This night, while thinking of God, pray to the moon and beg for forgiveness of your sins. Remember Kira…"

"Does that part about being afraid to show your face means she has the power of killing just by looking at someone like the second Kira did?" asked Gevanni.

"That could also be interpreted from what the girl did at the end. She stated that she would reveal her identity by removing her mask, when the name Oath is clearly a pseudonym. But we can't ascertain they posses the second's Kira power just from that. We might even suspect that they wanted us to think they do. Or it could refer to the fact that they know my name and all they need to kill me is look at my face. It could also be interpreted as a threat, the moment my identity is revealed they'll kill me."

Matsuda butted in: "Why do you keep saying they? There's only one girl. The guys in capes could be actors."

"I don't think so. They were probably followers and I don't think they were aware of being filmed. But those "guys" are not relevant. When I say they, I'm not thinking about the followers that they've showed us, but about the followers they had hinted at. The fact that they've had the resources to film those people unawares and the fact that they are able to transmit the same message hacking on TV systems through out the planet tells us that this can't be the work of a single person. If you think of it, it's the same with L. I wouldn't be able to do my work without the resources of countless unseen people. Kira has actually become like L."

Matsuda sighed: "I'm confused. I mean, first she goes all like your end is near and then she says that if you kneel you'll be forgiven, but in the end she threatens to kill you if you show your face. That doesn't make sense."

"Surprisingly you are right, it actually doesn't make sense. Well, at least you are partially right. The kneeling part has nothing to do with compassion. It's also part of the threat. In reality it means: if you surrender you'll be spared, if, on the contrary, you defy Kira, you'll be killed. But if they really think I'm a coward and they are offering to spare me then the part of: your end is near doesn't add up. That's odd, considering the rest of the speech was quite coherent. That probably means that we shouldn't take that part in a literal sense…"

Near looked horrorstruck and turned to face B. She grew pale. He then pushed a button saying into a microphone: "Watari, are you there?"

B gasped: "The line is off. We've lost communication with Watari."

"Contact the Wammy's Houses immediately, B! Tell them to evacuate the children, especially those who are prospective successors."

_'Fudge!'_ Even then B couldn't get past her upbringing, she never cursed. Not really. He had caught up sooner than they had expected it. She had told Black not to include that line. She had told her that was gloating and that it served no purpose whatsoever. But the gentleman caller had wanted to give L a fair chance. He thought that would make his defeat even sweeter. So they had included it even after she had told them that he was really smart. In the two years they had been together B had grown to respect him. And she couldn't stall, no unless she wanted to risk being caught.

"Wammy's Houses? You mean there's more than just one?" Aizawa was looking at Near.

"There's no time for this. Please remain silent while we sort this out. B, hurry up. Start with the one in Mumbai and then move westward. They are probably following the pattern of the TV transmission."

"I'm logged into Watari's computer, and I've already sent the distress signal. As for Mumbai, they are not responding. According to the schedules' file that Watari gets every month they took most of the kids to camping in the Borivali National Park to celebrate the New Year, there's no electricity there. There's a news report on the web. There has been a fire in the park. No one knows how it started, but the police suspects Muslim extremist were trying to destroy the recently rebuilt Taramati Temple. Someone must have been listening to the police scanner and right now there are several riots involving opposing Hindu and Muslim groups."

During the next hours after B had to sound the alarm they kept receiving ever more ominous reports from the different Wammy's Houses. The rest sat in silence while Near strove to protect L's legacy.

Turns out the L side wasn't totally unprepared, there was a contingency plan and some safe houses set up. But Kira's followers had done their homework and had targeted those kids that were higher on the list. In the end, though most kids had been taken to safer locations, the fiftieth most likely successors were reported as dead. Furthermore, about eighty children under the age of twelve who had a high probability of becoming successors were reported as missing.

When Watari was finally able to call from a secure line in one of the safe houses all those reunited around the table were feeling despondent.

B raised her eyes from the computer screen and said: "They've found a crate in Rio de Janeiro. According to the report they are sending me right now, the box was filled with wool and dried Jonamac apples. The report says that's a variety of American early fall dessert apple. They have bright dark red outer skin and a cream colored crisp textured aromatic flesh. They usually have a short shelf life, which probably accounts as for why they were dried. They have a somewhat tart slightly acid flavor and they are often used in confectionary, as some find them hard to eat without sugar. The fruits haven't been tampered with, as far as the Lab techs can tell. They dusted the crate for prints but they've found too many. Yet, they've been able to isolate a few and they estimate that over a hundred people have been in contact with the crate. As soon as they finish relocating the equipment in the safe house they are running some tests."

Near sighed sourly: "They'll search and they won't find anything, or worst, they'll find too much evidence which amounts to the same," then he signaled B to carry on.

"Our Lab has already started searching for leads on the origin of the box. The crate was delivered by hand a few minutes before the attack started. That's not unusual since most donors send gifts for the children in the first days of January to celebrate the New Year on the 1st and the Folia de Reis on the 6th. Since down there they were having their summer vacation and preparing for the New Year's Eve, security was a bit laxer than usual. No one noticed anything odd and no one remembers anything about the deliveryman other than he arrived in a white van with a fish drawn on it and that he was dressed in white just like the attendees to the festival of Yemanjá do. Yemanjá is some sort of African sea goddess and they celebrate processions in her honor on the second day of January."

"Is this Yemanjá an Orixa?"

"I believe so. Let me check. Yes, she is, her sons are supposed to be fish. Do you think that has something to do with this?"

He denied: "That's probably irrelevant. Is part of the same strategy they followed elsewhere, they want people to think that this is somehow related to some cult. But that makes no sense if you take into account they've attacked every Wammy's House almost simultaneously. So the fish in the van was probably meant for the police, and we can cross it out as useless. Unless…" He stopped with the black stone midair: "Aizawa-san, does the NPA know of any connections between Yemanjá worship and Aleph?"

Aizawa thoughtfully caressed his beard: "As far as I know there aren't any. The Aum Shinrikyo philosophy is a pastiche of different religions but they are fundamentally derived from Vajrayana Buddhism. I'll ask the PSIA about it."

"Use the phone B will give you, your cell phone won't work here. Lidner, can you get the CIA to lend us a hand with this?"

Halle Lidner nodded: "Yes, though I agree with Chief Aizawa, this group has never been connected to Candomblé before."

"B, make an independent inquiry, use Interpol if you have to. Mogi-san, you are quite good at looking through a lot of information. Would you mind getting on the other terminal and helping B look into it?"

"Sure."

B indicated him a chair besides hers: "This is a predictive search engine, once you've fed it with your inquiry it designates a high priority to the results you found most accurate. As you move forward to another inquiry it uses the previous matches and a set of key words to present the best suited results. It helps you narrowing things down quickly."

"Amazing, I've never heard of such thing. Whoever designed this is a genius." Mogi looked at the monitor.

B couldn't help wondering what he would think if he found out the genius was a teenage girl: "It was designed by a friend of mine especially for L. It's not hard to get the hang of it, please fell free to use it."

"Hai!" said Mogi as he began pounding on the keyboard.

"Wait, another report just arrived: The box is made out of wood, a very common strain of pine. The wool is from merinos, which are the most widespread breed of sheep so it is virtually untraceable. Jonamac apples are a high maintenance breed and somewhat rarer but not enough to be able to differentiate the batch. The report says that when they emptied the crate a false bottom was found. Inside of it there was an envelope addressed to you. No prints were found. The envelope was sealed with wax and it had a rampant lion stamped on it. After some basic analysis they ascertained it was safe to open it. The message is as follows: 'L, did you know Shinigami only eat apples?' Then it continues with a poorly rhymed recipe for apple sauce. The first verse says: When indulging your sweet tooth be careful not to eat your own foot. The note was signed by Kira, protector of mankind. They didn't found any tracking or bugging devices in it. They are asking me if you want them to send the crate and the note to us after the testing is done."

Near's chocolate bar fell off his mouth. He frowned as he stamped his hand on the go board and swept it across, making the stones fall. His hand shook slightly: "Make them send the note. Tell them to throw the rest to the sea. He thinks he is clever quoting Alexander, but this is all very childish."

Matsuda looked befuddled: "Uh?"

B hid a smirk: '_God! This guy was born to play the Watson.'_ She also noticed that Near was toying nervously with his hair so she rose from the chair, picked up her purse and took out a package of playing cards. She handed them to him and sat back. It didn't seem like Near was going to bother to explain it so she did: "Once, Alexander the Great sent a box of mustard seeds to Darius, king of Persia, so he could taste the bitterness of defeat. Also, according to Plutarch, Alexander said that he feared more an army of sheep led by a lion, than an army of lions led by a sheep. The attacks on the Wammy's Houses where probably carried out by a small group of highly trained people manipulating large mobs, hence the sheep reference. And finally, Alexander comes from the Greek alexis, which means protector, and andros, which means man."

"Oh! Well, I think that's clever." Everyone threw Matsuda a venomous look so he piped down.

Mogi looked up from the monitors: "L, I might have found a Brazilian link to the Aum Shinrikyo cult. A computer software company, they are Aleph's principal funding. They were involved in the year 2000 scandal when it was discovered that the Japan Defense Agency was using their anti-hacker software. Through this proxy the Aum Shinrikyo cult infiltrated the Construction Ministry, the Posts and Telecommunications Ministry and the Education Ministry as well as NTT, Japan's largest telecoms company. Currently their corporate HQ is in Bahia. Their CEO, a Russian citizen called Grisha Kalinin, has an eighteen years old son: Mikhail Ivan. Ivan's the lover of model-socialite Tareyja Santos Almeida. About six months ago, during a fashion show, she attacked another model and claimed she was one of Yemanjá's priestesses. The police report says that she had consumed crystal. This guy Ivan Kalinin has had some history with the Brazilian police. A couple of years ago, he was arrested for public disorder during the Sao Joao (Saint John) festival. He got off with a bail because he was a minor. As a matter of fact he has also achieved some notoriety as a cracker. His objective, according to the "teachings" he publishes in his blog, is to end the PC's reign in the computer world through any means necessary. He is a well known Macintosh advocate."

Gevanni jumped out of his seat: "I've heard of him! His name was brought up during an investigation in which the FBI was asked to collaborate with Homeland Security to help arrest the guy who had successfully hacked into the Pentagon's Heating and Refrigeration Plant. For three days the air-conditioning didn't work and the monitors flashed with the message: 'Does the NCSC think it's smart to have a virus ridden sluttish operating system warding the nuclear button? Relinquish your _P_ieces of _C_rap or sweat to death, pigs.' It was signed: 'Courtesy of Mac the Knife'. Back then this Ivan Kalinin was in the country with a student visa, though it wasn't a regular high school, it was some sort of boot camp. He quickly made it to the top of our suspects list. But even though everyone knew he did it we were unable to find any conclusive evidence linking him to the case. He goes by many aliases but he is best known as John the Macvangelist."

"Masaka! Jonamac! It has to be him!" Matsuda shouted.

"I think he's right, this can't be a coincidence," B smiled inwardly. As her nana had once said, the devil knows the best way to hide the truth is to be perfectly honest.

"He's probably connected but I doubt he is anything more than a front man. That's such an obvious "clue" that only an idiot would fall for it. Of course, we have to investigate him. We have to be courteous and the lady seems eager to direct our attention towards this man. Still, we won't focus the investigation on him. I won't take that easy bait. No when we are dealing with an adversary like them. But first we shall take care of more pressing business."

"More pressing business! What are you talking about? I think that this new Kira and any lead we may have on him should be our top priority. We have to take care of this right now." Aizawa was furious. He had just being forced to witness helplessly as some psycho used the name of his former boss' son to mass murder children.

"Yeah I agree! Plus this guy is nothing like the first Kira, he at least didn't kill innocent children," said Matsuda.

"Is that what everyone thinks?"

Nobody said anything but the answer could be read on their faces. Near kept placing cards on the table and said: "I see. Take my word on it that there are more pressing business to take care of right now. One of them is a matter of life and dead. But right after I deal with it, I'll explain you in detail why I believe that reasoning is faulty."

He turned around in his chair and said: "Please, B, send this message to the e-mail that woman Oath mentioned. Also, post it on every Kira related site you can: 'L politely declines Kira's invitation to meet face to face, for the time being. He also accepts Kira's thoughtful gift with humility and soon expects to be able to return the favor. He regrets that he won't be able to enjoy the gift with all of his children since some of them have a sweet tooth and won't appreciate the tart flavor. He is pleased to inform Kira that in the upcoming days L's children will be eating cake and drinking tea in the comfort and safety of their own home as they wait for their turn to meet Kira. But L doubts this will be necessary since he fully intends to prevent that from happening any time soon. He eagerly waits for a chance to play again and show a worthy adversary, once more, who the best man is. L also expects Kira to extend him the courtesy of permitting him to have the same team as the time before, with the addition of some of Kira's old friends. And, since he knows that Kira enjoys Alexander's the Great quotes, he would like to share one with him: I will not steal a victory. The end and perfection of our victories is to avoid the vices and infirmities of those whom we subdue.' Rubricate it as L's successor."

As B typed she couldn't conceal her smile. For a couple of seconds she was beaming. She firmly believed that a man's enemies are one of the best measures of a man's worth, and this man was one of the finest opponents she had ever gamed. All her nana had ever wanted was to see her married to a husband she could be proud of. Through an odd set of circumstances she had ended up doing exactly that. So good was this man that she desperately needed to get in touch with Black or Red.

"What is the meaning of this? Some British humor thing? I don't think that this is the time to talk to that psycho as if you were having a tea party!" Halle's eyes were filled with tears. She didn't take it well that Near could talk so calmly after all those little boys and girls had died.

But Near wasn't looking at her. His eyes were locked with B's. He was thinking, not for the first time, that the woman who was his wife was something else: "You've already guessed, haven't you?"

"Yes. I'd thought you were defeated when the contingency plans to protect Wammy's alumni seemed to fail, but you aren't. Those kids weren't the only ones. Those were as you said front men to the real heirs who are hidden. May I ask who else knew of it?"

"A selected few. Since the NPA discovered the link between Wammy's House and L we've been expecting something of the sort. That's why some of the successors have been kept a secret, even to themselves. And most of the kids who were reported missing have managed to escape, aided by a fast reaction team that Watari led. That's why he couldn't communicate with us, but he was listening to the whole thing."

"So he is currently with the hidden heirs?"

"Yes. The rest of the information must remain secret, even from you. Actually, I prefer it that way. The very fact that the contingency plans were leaked means there's a mole at Wammy's. I don't want to cast the slightest doubt on you so the less you know about this, the better."

"Of course," B nodded with a sweet smile. '_He told them to throw the rest of the crate to the sea, and I suspect Watari was in America. That means we still have a chance to catch them if I can contact Red ASAP_.'

"Do you understand why I had to send the message?"

"If you hadn't sent it, you, and most likely all of us, would be dead."

"Explain this, L," ordered Aizawa, the years as Chief of the NPA had left him with little patience for being out of the loop.

"If I hadn't, Kira might have been led to think what B did, that I had been truly defeated. With that in mind and after they made sure that I knew it then the logical course of action would be to kill me. What's more, even if the Jonamac apples are nothing but a false clue designed to send us into a wild goose chase for African Goddesses and cults, it points out to something else, we've been played from the start. This whole electromagnetic bomb deal with Aleph was a set up to get us all in the same place. That way Kira could have you as witnesses of his prevalence over me and, afterwards, he could easily get rid of all those who knew about him. That's why I used the victory quote as a final safeguard. Though I suspect that certain honorability between us was a given. They did try to give me fair warning and if they had wanted to just kill the rest of you they would probably have done it already. Since we can assume that they know your names and your pictures are not that hard to get."

"What if it is too late? What if they've already written our names on the Death Note?" Matsuda asked wide-eyed.

"Then you have less than six minutes to live. But I doubt it. I think that we can deduce from this childish set up that this Kira's Herald wanted us to acknowledge our defeat. If you want, I can explain you why all of this is consistent with the first Kira's methods while we wait to see what happens."

Matsuda's mouth gaped open but he didn't say a thing. It was Gevanni who couldn't keep quiet any longer: "This is insane! You keep talking about Kira as if he still existed. We destroyed the books of death and Light Yagami is dead, those are the facts."

"Yes, those are the facts. But we also know that this Kira's Herald and her organization have access to direct information about the Kira's case. Believe me, we went through the records carefully and erased as much as we could. And some of it, like the "L, did you know…" phrase was never made public knowledge. To further pursue the point, besides you and Watari, no one knows about my true identity. No one, that is, but Light Yagami. And he is dead. Plus, during the last part of the investigation, he was under the constant surveillance of Chief Aizawa and Mogi. It's impossible that he would have gathered followers such as these without them noticing. And if he had he would have used them. It is irrational but the only plausible explanation is that the contact occurred after he had died."

"I won't believe in ghosts. That's nothing but superstitious nonsense," said Mogi.

"The same could be said about Shinigami and Death Notes. And, as I said before, that the contact occurred after his death is the only logical explanation. I agree that wouldn't necessary mean that we are facing a ghost. That could also be explained by the existence of another notebook which Kira might have sent to someone before dying. But you see, this whole operation matches exactly the first Kira's methods. Even what you say about the killing of innocent children doesn't change the fact that this is the same modus operandi. As for the killing of innocent children, I don't think Kira views them as such. For him they are nothing more than obstacles standing between him and his main objective. And from what happened to the first FBI agents who confronted him, we know how Kira deals with obstacles."

"But Kira always said that his objective was to do justice and protect the righteous."

"That argument is nothing more than a mean used for wooing the crowd. From the first time we faced Kira we ascertained that this was a game to prove who could best the other. Back then, it was Kira versus L. What hides behind those words is that, given the stakes, there's another name for this game we are playing: War. Please realize that if Kira had won he would have been entitled to dominate the world. That hasn't changed. This, our first battle, was carefully planned and designed to be a definitive blow. The enemy has shown us just how far they are willing to go to achieve victory and demonstrate their superiority. This also mimicked the way in which the previous L confronted Kira in their first battle. They've shown us some things in order to obtain information from our actions and draw us to the open. The fact that they might be led by Light Yagami's ghost or some heir who is able to think in the same way he did and has access to all this information is, ultimately, irrelevant. Whatever your personal believes on the subject might be, if we want to prevail in this war, then, for the sake of argument, let us assume that we are facing the real Kira."

B sighed, he was amazing. Not even what the gentleman caller had told her had prepared her for seeing him in action. And now it was time to put to the test all of her training. She really needed to contact Red and Black, and she had no option but to do it under the lion's nose.

_**Next on Kira's Kingdom: Scroll 4: Audiatur et altera pars (Let the Other Part Speak) the making of a living death note is explained and we get to **__**know more about the Evangelists -including Mac the knife- while Near-L prepares his counter blow.**_


	4. Audiatur et Altera Pars

_**AN: Primo, thank you for reviews. I feel happy, especially since I've received one of the best I've ever got. I'm very much obliged Kalessin. Yours is such a thoughtful and thorough review that I feel the urge to justify myself… don't worry; I'll try to resist it. Let me just say that I've already given the previous chapters a small tiding up. And that I'll take your suggestions into account for wh**__**en I do the "real" editing. Secundus, again the chapter turned out too long so I'm posting it as Scroll 4 and 5. This second draft only includes changes in Black's age for reasons explained in Scroll 10.**_

**Kira's Kingdom**

**Scroll 4 **_**Audiatur et altera pars (Let the Other Part Speak)-Second draft-**_

_**4.1 The Threepenny Soap Opera:**_

_When that shark bites,  
with his teeth, babe,  
scarlet billows start to spread.  
Fancy gloves though,  
wears old Macheath, babe,  
So there's never, ever, a trace of red._

_Oh Jenny Diver, Whoah, Sukey Tawdry,  
Look out for Miss Lotte Lenya, not to mention old Miss Lucy Brown.  
Hey the line forms on the right, babe,  
now that Macky's back in town.  
From the song: "Mack the Knife", the Marc Blitzstein's version in Bobby Darin's 1959 performance._

_Brazil, January 1st 2019, Salvador da Bahia, the ballroom in the Edificio Oceania:_

Red plunged listlessly into the chair. Then she adopted her askew version of the lotus position and her scarlet silk skirt lumped around her waist. Good thing that skirt was long so the only thing that showed were her net stockings. She scratched her leg, she hated those things but the girl at the store had said that they would look great with her dress. Red wanted to look her best and had no idea of how to do it on her own, so she had let the girl choose her outfit. And she'd been rather pleased by the results. Still, the stiff maitre threw her a disapproving glare the moment she'd walked in, and had kept doing it whenever she sat down in her peculiar way. '_Sure, the old geezer disapproves, but all his moral sand castles caved in when Mac mentioned his father's name. And then Mr. Prude happily serves alcohol to a minor. Worthless coward!'_

She showed him her tongue and then she started making towers with the sugar lumps surrounding them with a moat of shinny knifes. She inhaled and exhaled heavily. Her red leather bodice barely held under the added pressure and that gained her another disgusted look from the snob. She ignored him; she had no choice but to risk bursting out of it. She needed air since she was feeling dizzy. About 10 percent of it could be explained by the amount of booze she had chugged down. Another 10 percent could be blamed on all the twirling she'd been doing on the dance floor in the past few hours. Yet another 10 percent could be put down as a side effect of jetlag. But, to be honest, the remaining 70 percent was due to the man that had held her in his arms as they danced the night away.

To be even more brutally honest that thought troubled her. She let her gaze roll over his muscular shoulders. He was leaning towards the band's conductor and asking him to play the song he wanted as he slipped some money in the man's hand. That was more a gesture of good will than it was a bribe. The man wouldn't have dared to refuse him. The news had spread and everyone knew he was the son of Grisha Kalinin.

That made Red's infatuation even more troubling. Granted, those arms and that broad back were something to behold. And they paled when you traced them up to that face of his. An angel face with a black heart was what his mother used to whisper when she kissed him good night. His mother had died (allegedly poisoned by her cuckolded husband) and he had come a long way since his curly cherub days. But that basic truth about him hadn't changed. He still had the fallen angel looks with a heart to match.

He was the kind of man that would look good in rags, a fact he often took advantage of as he had a somewhat risqué sense of fashion. His hair was cut in a spiky style that would have made anyone else seem like a startled kakatoo, yet the blond could pull it off and still looked the dandy. He had a pointy barbell protruding from his left eyebrow, but that only added a bit of spice in his otherwise flawless features. Usually he favored dark leather and animal prints. Sometimes he even dared to cover himself with a feathered jacket. Very few men could do that without looking either girlish or positively ridiculous. He seemed anything but girlish and anyone who said he looked ridiculous was probably dying with envy. But when he was wearing his tux, which snuggly wrapped around his trim frame…Hey, you could sell tickets and a crowd would come running to look at him.

_'This way please ladies, the line forms on the right.'_

To her eternal surprise, she was eager to join the groupies. She cursed her rational self that would never allow her to entertain the fantasy of becoming anything more than a reluctant fan. He was one of the breed that could be admired by anyone, enjoyed by a few and owned by no one; which, in her case, basically meant he was out of bounds. She wasn't one to join a club, no matter how exclusive it might be. Plus she had never considered herself an idiot or a romantic and in her book those were synonyms.

Actually, she took pride in the fact that most people thought about her as a cold hearted bitch. She liked to travel light, especially when it came to emotional baggage. And she had always showed a natural aptitude for being able to remain detached and promptly cut her losses. Or, at least, she used to. All the coldness and detachment had flown out the window the moment she had laid eyes on Mikhail Ivan Kalinin.

She could still swear love at first sight was a myth but she was now a believer in lust at first sight. That was amazing considering she had never experienced lust before seeing Mac. And she wasn't even supposed to get a first sight, but she couldn't resist meeting with him. She had found him quite casually after she was about to give up on the search for her Evangelist.

Black had said that they needed some people to help them deliver their message and had introduced them to her older brother Matthew. Matthew had some formal military training and a successful career as a mercenary. It was clear what he had to offer to their efforts. Then White had found Lucca, and old college pal of hers who had turned out to be a very competent businessman in the self-help industry. He was also a wholeheartedly Kira's supporter. Lucca had the Midas touch and had, along with White, provided much of the material resources their little "enterprise" had.

For the first time Red had resented being an orphan, she had no one to turn to. She didn't have a family or real friends. She had quit Wammy's long before graduation and had always led the life of a hermit in pursue of her revenge. Plus she wasn't very good at social interaction. Most people could drop dead for all that she cared and she was too outspoken to be an easy company. Frankly, she didn't know where to start looking for someone she could put her trust in.

She'd nervously joked that Galileo would be her contribution to the ranks. White had given her a concerned look. As much as she usually enjoyed White's tendency to mother her, Red had wanted to punch her in the nose. She didn't need anyone's pity. Black's reaction had been worst, that bitch was beyond pity, she'd simply stated that wouldn't do and that Red should start looking for someone real. That had hurt badly. Galileo was more "real" to her than most of the drones that crossed her path on the street any given day. She was so upset that she had to retreat to one of her comfort spaces. As with much of her life this one was virtual, a forum about one of her personal obsessions: musical theater.

They were discussing the Threepenny Opera and comparing it with its antecessor The Beggars' Opera. To prove that she could reach out and touch someone, she had commented that when she was little she had named her favorite doll Molly Brazen in honor of one of Mack's hussies. A pathetic troll had said that was the lamest comment he'd ever read in one of the lamest forums he'd ever been to. Red was in the mood to beat the crap out of someone. She'd smiled and thanked life for sending her a punching bag. She'd taken the bait and answered: 'You must be a real idiot to hang around a place you hate'.

Then the troll had gotten violent and began insulting her. After some verbal sparring, not much since the troll only had two functioning brain cells, she got ready to chastise the guy. That's when Mac the Knife got ahead of her. Mac was into the direct approach and had blown the guy's computer, actually his whole net. Then Mac said that you shouldn't feed the troll, unless you planned to shove a bucket of filth down its gullet. But he wouldn't tolerate anyone being rude to a lady. Then he'd said that the asshole wouldn't bother her anymore.

She told him that she fed whoever it pleased her. That his gesture was very chivalric but that it was also quite unnecessary. She'd said she wasn't called Pirate Jenny for nothing, she already had the sap's credit card number and was about to order half a dozen of the most questionable old hags fetish porn on his name and have them deliver to his wife's work address.

He had laughed and told her that she should do it anyways and that way the rude bastard would never forget the lesson. After a while they had moved their conversation to a more private setting, a Latvian "untraceable" messaging service. To a casual spectator they were just two people chatting about meaningless things, in reality they had started a mad race to try to find out who it was that was behind each other's monitor.

Long story short, they arrived at the same time and blurted out what they knew. He had gone as far as to find out about Galileo. And she went as far as to tell him what Galileo was, well, the technical part of it, the purpose of it she concealed for the moment. In the next few months they kept circling around each other until a first class plane ticket was sent to an address one of her aliases used. She couldn't resist, she met him, and the only person she'd told about it was White. Dear old White tried to talk her out of going and then she'd insisted in following her from a distance, ready to draw her pen if he turned out to be a dangerous freak.

He was definitely dangerous, but that was part of his charms. He had many charms indeed. And they had found they were likeminded in more than one way. Red had ended up inviting him to join the Kira's crew. White, who was a catholic, found it auspicious that all those who would help them deliver their message had an Evangelist's name: Matthew, Luke (Lucca) and John (Ivan). Black wasn't too sure, she saw John the Macvangelist as a wild card and she was a control freak. But he was more than apt at what he did and his father's contacts proved useful, so she gave in.

Red couldn't blame Black. It was so easy to give in to what Mac wanted. And on that note we go back to how she had ended leaving Galileo to do the job while she hastily bought a ridiculously expensive dress and mounted her butt on a Jet to celebrate the New Year and their victory in Bahia.

'_Crap!' _Drinking champagne had been a bad idea. First, because it was illegal and she didn't like that Mac find it so easy to cross the line that divided right from wrong. Second, because she was founding it increasingly harder to keep her cool. She wanted to lay something more than her eyes on him.

She tried to conjure up Tareyja's face, the anorexic snake who was the "official" girlfriend. In other occasions the girl's existence had proved to be a good deterrent from indulging in that kind of thoughts. Even if Red had rejected most of Wammy's conditioning she still had a certain sense of properness. But alcohol is evil. She felt immediately thankful that she had left the notebook that White had given her for safe keeping back at the hotel. Or else that Brazilian biatch would be gone in 40 seconds flat.

"Yeah right, and then Black will use my guts as garters," she muttered.

Red could bet all the millions she'd never have on that one. As it is, that crazy chick was going to have a fit when she found out that Red had left Galileo unattended and flown away for a tête-à-tête with John the Macvangelist. Apocalypse would fall short to describe what Black would do if anything went wrong on Red's absence.

_'If she finds out,'_ she corrected herself,_ 'which she won't since Galileo is perfectly capable of managing things on his own and Black is too busy playing the Greek conqueror to notice anything.'_

"So you're wearing black garters underneath all that red silk? That's so very Sukey Tawdry, Luv."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment, Mac?"

"Haven't I complimented you 'nough? What the heck! I'd hate to disappoint a lady. You look ravishing, you are glowing."

'_Boy, this guy could sell ice to the penguins and those slippery fools would walk away feeling they've done the deal of the century.' _

He wasn't even lying. Not really. She was glowing, mostly because she had been sweating like a pig. Summers in Bahia were hot and she wasn't used to that. But she wasn't ravishing, ravished came closer. She was perched awkwardly on the chair and her short hair looked like a bird's nest. She couldn't find her shoes if her life depended on it. She'd kicked off those high heeled instruments of torture after the first minute of wearing them. Shortly after losing the shoes she had found out that silk skirts wrinkle easily. Still, you've got to love a man who can deliver that line with a straight face to a girl that looks like something the cat dragged in. And the fact that he was looking at her as if he really believed it, made him a candidate for sainthood. Well, not sainthood, no saint could have a look like that on his face and be allowed to keep his halo.

He offered her his hand and made her stand up walking with her to the dance floor. Then he leaned towards her and said: "The old year is loosing its grip on this world right about now. What do you say, pirate Jenny? Wanna dance to celebrate the beginning of an Era?"

He had a lopsided smile on his face and then a tango had started playing. She was about to tell him that there was no way she could muster the coordination to dance a tango, even if she hadn't drunk so much, when she began hearing bells ringing. For a couple of seconds she feared that he had finally driven her mad and then she realized it was her cell phone.

She rescued the phone from a pocket in her skirt and looked at it. She found out she had fifteen messages, all from White except for the last. That one was from Luke. She called him back and he explained she needed to contact White. Something had gone wrong with their plan. Red had to lay her head on Mac's shoulder, she felt weak at the knees. He took her back to the table and once more she sat feeling dizzy, but this time 100 percent of it could be explained by fear. As a matter of fact, she was seeing black.

_**4.2 Reading between lines:**_

_Japan-Kanto region, January 1st 2019, old L's-NPA HQ:_

White was impaired for any recreational use of technology. That probably came from her deep ingrained mistrust of anything playful. She recognized that personality trait as one of her nana's inherited prejudices and that was why she strove to fight it. That had been the reason why she had let Red convince her to use different ringtones for different people. White'd also let Red choose her own and now her mobile phone mewed maniacally every time she called.

The first time that had happened she had been in a meeting with the Reisenbach's lawyers and she had nearly choked on her own tongue. White had muttered an explanation with her face blushed. She had felt so ashamed that she'd almost deleted all of her phone's settings trying to silence the cat. But she liked Red and she knew she meant well so, after taking a couple of cups of her best nerve calming tisane, she'd let the cat stay. And now she found herself praying for the darned contraption to mew already. She had cramps in her fingers from trying to message Red without anyone noticing what she was doing.

The thing finally mewed during one of those long silences that make everyone notice even the smallest noise in a room. It sounded as if someone was strangling a kitten but to B it was music.

"It's my younger sister. She was living with our older sister but she's just moved out. She has the most dreadful boyfriend and I've told her that if she needs to, she can phone me at any time. You don't mind if I pick up?" She crossed her fingers mentally and hoped he'd take the bait.

Near nodded absentmindedly: "Sure, B. We are just finishing some things here, then everyone should go grab something to eat and go to sleep, there's no much we can do now."

"Ok, then I'll take it. Hi there little sis. Is everything ok?"

"What do you think, big sis? Of course I'm not ok. Not since you messaged me."

"Where are you?"

"Brazil, I'm with John."

'_With John? That girl is a boatful, running out in a time like this. And she sounds a bit tipsy to make it worst. Black isn't going to like that. But Brazil's closer to where I think Watari took the children to. Finally, our luck seems to be improving_.' B made a pause so that they'd think Red was telling her something else.

"White? Are you there?"

"He hit you!" B cried out outraged and everyone looked at her. She nodded apologetically and then she lowered her voice: "I knew that man was trouble from the first time I saw him! Don't cry, darling. You had to get away from him. I'm glad your friend Gal will take you in. You are safe in his house. Stay right there. Don't move back no matter what that boyfriend of yours tells you. He's lying, read between the lines, honey."

"What the hell are you talking about? Oh, I get it, you are talking in code. But I'm not with Galileo. I told you I'm in Brazil, though I still can access him. You aren't alone, are you?"

"No darling, I'm not."

B was about to say that she'd take the call in her room when that dreadful Matsuda said: "I thought that cell phones didn't work here."

"Wait a minute darling." She covered the phone: "Yours won't work. But ever since she met this man I've been expecting something like this so that's why I overrode that order and her call got in."

Had her husband been anyone else he'd probably probed further. But thankfully Near wasn't the kind of man to concern himself with his wife's domestic issues. He told Matsuda that they needed to decide how they were going to proceed and what was going to be everyone's role so he should better pay attention.

B was pondering if she could manage to make them let her take the call privately but Aizawa was staring at her. It might have been just her paranoia but she didn't want to risk looking suspicious so she decided she had to take the call in front of them. She had to keep it short because the longer she talked there were more chances for her to get caught. And still she had to convey all the relevant information to Red. She breathed in and prepared to perform.

"Of course I'm still here. Honey, calm down. You shouldn't feel guilty. He had no right to hit you. No matter what you supposedly did. You did well to escape. You should stay right where you are. That's the best place for you now. I'm so angry with him, had I been there I would have hit him back and I would have made sure he never raised his hand against you again."

"Yeah right, rub it in. Just so you know it, it wasn't my fault somebody escaped. The operative part was Black's responsibility."

"Oh dear! I'm not telling you I told you so, but you've got to admit that part of the responsibility of putting yourself in this man's hands was yours. I mean, that relationship wasn't going to work; you could see that from the beginning. Nothing you could do would have changed that. You have to learn to think ahead. Remember you laughed when I told you that you shouldn't put all the eggs in one basket? Aren't you glad now that you had a plan b?"

"Plan b? Those bastards had a plan b? Crap! Talk about overzealous, but that's so like Wammy's. And what's that about the eggs? Did some of the successors survived?"

"That's right, darling. For now the only thing you can do is stay put, that's a safe place and he can't harm you there. He won't find it no matter how much he looks for it."

"They are in a safe house? You want me to find them?"

"Yes, honey. First of all, you have to calm yourself. Crying won't help you. If you can, take a walk on the beach. Look at the ocean. That always works for me. The answer might be closer than you think. Then you can begin to look for a way to move on with your life. Believe me; even if you can't see it now, this is a lucky break for you. It could be worst if you'd had a deeper commitment with this man. And prepare yourself, knowing him; he's going to try to get to you again."

"You want me to try and catch them. They are by the sea? Are you sure?"

"That's just a hunch, honey. Remember those who are close to us are those who can harm us the most. But there are no certainties when it comes to relationships, especially with that silver-tongued two-timer of yours. If you think that he might try to talk you into going back with him then maybe you should turn off your phone. Lay low for a while. We'll keep in touch with the e-mail. Check it frequently and before you turn the phone off, call sis."

"So they know about the mole in Wammy's. That impostor is better than I thought. You want me to tell Black? Great! She'll hang me from the ceiling! Can't you call her for me? Please. She's wacko." Red whined.

"Now, honey, don't say that. You know she only means the best for us all. And I think that this time you have to talk to her personally. You owe her an apology."

"Crap!"

"Don't swear, darling. I'll phone her if I can and try to ease things up for you. Then I'll send someone to help you move your things out from his apartment. We don't want you to leave anything there that he might use as a pretext to see you again. I have to go now. Remember to check your mail and, also, remember I love you little sis. Take care, I worry about you."

"Don't send anyone. John will help me erase everything. And you probably won't have anything to worry about after Black finishes with me. I love you too big sis."

The moment Red had said it she realized that she really cared for White. Then she'd tilted her head pensively. Isn't life ironic? Even after she had been focused on accomplishing her revenge she had managed to make one friend. And she said one friend because she wanted Mac to be so much more than a friend, and because she knew that Black was no one's friend. Oath fancied herself the captain of the ship. That crazy woman liked to think that since she was the first that Kira had contacted, she was entitled to boss them around. Red cursed and thought it was just her luck the "chief" was a perfectionist that had little patience for those who made mistakes and that had the power to kill dwelling on her skin.

_**Next on Kira's Kingdom-Scroll 5: The Broken Messiah. The tale of Oath, Light and the living Death Note.**_


	5. The Broken Messiah

_**AN: Yikes! If I'd known crediting Red would get me into so much trouble with all the rest of my Cour des Miracles I wouldn't had done it (sighs)… Ok, from now on, I'll leave all further acknowledgments for the end since I hate when others inflict lengthy, seemingly pointless ANs on me. But, in order to avoid getting more hate mail, I want to thank some people. Thanks to Nix Erebus, my little sis, for being such a willing researcher, for acting as "fashion adviser" and for the predictive search engine concept. Also I thank my friend**_ _**Aktsini (Lalo) for the translation of Death Note's opening and his gal Sava Savanovic (Vanushka) for showing me the hidden trapdoor that leads to Macheath's lair. And finally, once more, thank you Red for letting me borrow some of you for Mac and for sharing Prague with me. All that has changed in this second draft is Black's age, see Scroll 10 for the explanation.**_

**Kira's Kingdom**

**Scroll 5- **_**The Broken Messiah (Second draft)**_

_**5.1 The Best Laid Plans of Men and Mice:**_

_"We exchanged vows of revolution within the expanding darkness  
I loved the flower that bloomed from it  
I won't let anyone interfere with everything tomorrow has to bring._

_A future foretold by a fruit.  
This city has forgotten reason  
In these crooked and dark times  
I'll change dreams into ideals._

_Why? Am I a broken Messiah?  
Everyone has wished for an "end"  
One day I will show you the sky illuminated._

_Why? Am I a broken Messiah?  
Everyone has dreamed of "paradise"  
One day I will show you the world illuminated."_

_From the song "The World" by Nightmare; part of it was used in the first opening of Death Note's anime._

_Czech Republic, Prague-Staré Mesto (old town), January 1st 2019, an antiques shop in Karlova Street: _

Black had decided to set up Kira's headquarters in Prague for several reasons. The first one was that once upon a time the Golden City had been the capital of Alchemy and the Dark Arts. Even now its winding streets contained thousands of scrolls and books that dealt with arcane knowledge. Being a skeptic who had access to her own brand of magic, she loved the irony of it. Plus, though it was true that she regarded most of the manuscripts as superstitious blabber, she knew for a fact that some of them gave access to real power.

The second reason was practical: through Luke's and Matthew's good offices they had got hold of the perfect locale for them at a very reasonable price. In its previous incarnation it had posed as an art gallery that was actually the front of a counterfeiting ring. Also it had been the home of a mediocre painter that used the profits of his false masterpieces to support his sadistic inclinations. As he had told Matthew during their brief association, he liked his bed partners feisty, though the lucky ones ended up being unconscious. They've got the building as a bargain after the painter died a gruesome death to befit the one he liked to inflict on others.

The shop was a gorgeous building lined in redwood with allegorical carvings in its façade and a turret that had a wonderful view of the Orloj, the city hall's astronomical clock. It had a maze of subterranean passages and several airy, well lighted rooms above ground. One of the passages connected the shop to the Klementinum building complex, which allowed them to have a discreet and unrestricted access to the National Library's catalogue.

The third reason would come up as a surprise to most people who knew her. It was a sentimental reason. No one would've believed she was capable of acting on emotion, but that have been the main factor that had made her choose that place as their headquarters. She had fallen hard for the city of Prague. If she had believed in that sort of thing she would have thought she had already been there in a previous life.

As the Orloj struck the midday of the first day of the year, Black was peering over the turret's balcony. She was basking in a sense of victory. She sat as she lazily let her gaze roam over the clock. She was watching the figures of the Apostles pop out from behind the doors of the clock's tower. Then she fixed her eyes on the figure of the Reaper holding an hourglass that was besides the zodiac's signs sphere. Finally she let her gaze stay on the flaming sword of the angel that guarded the calendar. She felt such a strong connection to that avenger with golden wings that for a moment he seemed to lift from the cornice and be ready to fly towards her to celebrate their victory.

The Ghost that had become her constant companion woke her up from her reverie: "It must be done by now."

"Let me check," she radioed Matthew and he said that L's last bastion had fallen. The Ghost was looking at her with a raised eyebrow so she said: "It's done. Now all that's left is the final touch."

He nodded: "Have you thought about where you want them?"

She had, over and over during the past days, trying to choose the right place: "I've thought that you may write the Japanese names around my right ankle and the others around my left ankle. Except his; I think you should finish writing it on my nape."

He took her foot in his hands compromising her balance, making her have to grab a hold of the balustrade or risk falling to the pavement below them. He was as eager as she was. But before he started scribbling with a fountain pen that they'd ordered especially for the occasion, he made a pause and looked at her. She knew how he felt, they've worked for so long to arrive to this moment that it was hard to believe that it was finally over.

After a moment of silence he smiled and said: "I'll leave his for last."

She nodded and held her breath as if she was readying herself to dive into water. Her hearing was gone for a few seconds so the radio transmission caught her by surprise. An email had arrived from White, it was urgent. After Matthew finished reading it she had to suffocate her anger. It wasn't over at all. In fact it was just beginning.

She was forced to hear to the Ghost's reproaches with a blank face. Then she went downstairs towards the control room. She had some damage control to do. On the way down she smashed a priceless vase against the floor, she was angry. She had a lot of questions and someone should better give her the answers or else heads would start falling.

Light Yagami hated that he had to depend on these foolish girls to do even the slightest thing. He couldn't believe that they had overlooked the fact that there might have been countermeasures for an attack like the one they had planned. Thanks to that mistake the only result of their little charade was that now Near was aware of their presence. He had wanted to hit someone while he heard the message Near had sent him. It didn't matter to him that they had managed to thin the line of his enemy's blood.

He began tracing Near's steps, trying to figure out what would be his next move. Wondering what would Near deduce from Oath's message. He tried to decide if the detective could be aware of his presence.

_'No, that's impossible. Even if he deduces that his enemies have information about the first Kira he just can't know I'm still here. A ghost is not the first answer anyone would think of to respond the question of how they got it. And even if he suspects it, no one will believe him and he can't prove it. It's just the same with the suspicion that someone is spying on Wammy's. If there's anything to be found then he is more likely to find about Red. Maybe I should even consider sacrificing her to make them gain a false sense of security. I would still have White, he doesn't suspect her and, as I figured out, she is the only one of those three who kept her mind focused on the game. Plus she acted promptly and hastened the others to track the remaining heirs. We still have the upper hand. I don't have to lose one of them, yet. But I might have to let Near learn about the remaining Death Note. As long as they keep ignoring about Oath then they have nothing on us. Now that I have more resources I should have no trouble besting him. This is not a defeat; it's merely a postponement of what will surely come. I've allowed these girls too much freedom and now it's time to tighten the grip. Starting with my little katana, and I should act now that she is humbled by her failure. It's time to remind them who's Kira here.'_

But Near wasn't the only one with a contingency plan. With Black's aid he had come up with an idea he hadn't used because it was risky. Maybe it was time to take the risk. First he tried to regain his calm. He backtracked his actions of the past few years, looking for loopholes and flaws that Near might notice as he pursued him.

The world seemed unchanged as the midday sun bathed the city. He looked at the doves flying over the Vltava's emerald waters. The birds flew the same as usual; indifferent towards everything that had happened. He made the promise that one day all that would change, one of these days even the sky would tremble with his name. Before going down through the ceiling he allowed himself some minutes to reminisce how his second attempt to bring about Kira's ideal had started.

_**5.2 Ab Initio (From the Beginning):**_

_Scilly, May 9th 2010, the cliffs near a parish house in St Mary's Island:_

Once upon a lifetime the girl known as Oath was called Eve. Eve was never alone. Ever since she was a toddler she had felt a presence by her side, taking care of her. When she had first told her father about it he had said that it must be her mom watching over her from heaven. She sincerely doubted it. She didn't believe in god, heaven or hell. What kind of god lets a drunkard crash against a pregnant woman and then lets her live just long enough to give birth to her premature child?

Her father was a priest, he was one of the kindest men she'd ever met and all his life he'd had bad luck. Then there was Mr. Johnson, the apothecary. That man was evil, but everything seemed to turn out well for him. He was rich and was currently living with his very young second wife. He hadn't lost the previous one. He had changed her, just like other people would change their car's model. He didn't have to send his good for nothing son to the last of the wars their government liked to fight in godforsaken places. Ben Johnson was still goofing around the town's streets, but Matthew, her brother, was dogging bullets.

By age 14 she'd already learned that the world is not a fair place. So she wasn't surprised when her nightmares changed from scenes that depicted his brother bleeding to death in a marsh to scenes of a wounded man hiding from monsters in an alien wasteland.

Oddly enough, after a while she began enjoying the dreams. The man knew she was watching and talked to her. He was smart and was easy to talk to. He didn't treat her as a baby like most people did, because she looked younger than she was. And they shouldn't, she was smarter than most of then, at least that's what those tests she took said. When he wasn't talking to her he had the most amazing adventures evading the monsters and sneaking peeks of Earth from a hole on the desert's ground.

The dreams didn't make much sense. The man seemed to be trying to steal something from the monsters but he was having a hard time doing it. They were lazy beasts but they took great care of it. She thought that she saw what it was once he managed to steal a scrap of it from under a rock. Dreams are odd; it looked like a notebook. She knew stealing was wrong but the man seemed like a good person and she had seen the monsters watching people die with a smile on their faces. If she had to choose she'd choose him. He proved her right when he showed her an image of Matthew snoring in the back of a truck. He told her he was going to live and that he would come home soon. She had wanted so much to believe him that for the first time in her life she prayed.

When Matthew came back home the very next day, safe and relatively sound –he had partially lost his hearing- Eve was sure that the man had a part in it. She could barely wait for bedtime to thank him. He said it was nothing. And when Eve asked him if he was an angel and if he was the presence she'd always felt by her side, he laughed. Then he asked her if she wanted to know who it was that was playing her shadow. She gave him a sideways glance, for a minute she thought she had seen a scary shine in his eyes. But it was gone so fast that Eve convinced herself that she had imagined it and she said she did wanted to know. He told her he would show her if she met with him the next day by the cliffs. When she woke up, she thought that all had been a dream and that it would be crazy to keep an appointment with an imaginary man. But then she remembered about Matthew coming back and she went.

The man was actually there. That would've been enough to send most people to the mad house. It was too much for a girl, never mind how smart she was, and worst was coming. The man brushed a piece of paper against her arm and something appeared shimmering against the sky.

At first she couldn't believe she was awake. She closed and opened her eyes several times, trying to clear her vision. One of the monsters was there. It was huge and looked like a reanimated drowned ballerina, freshly out of her watery grave. It was purplish with dark blue lips like one of Degas' paintings that Matthew had showed her in his pictures' book. Eve opened her lips to scream but the man pressed his hand tightly over her mouth. Then he hoisted her and held her dangling over the cliff.

The monster took out a black notebook and a quill. But then it looked puzzled at the man: "Impossible! Why can't I see it?"

"You can't do it. I'm already dead," said the man smiling. "If you give me the notebook I'll let her go. If you don't, then she falls."

To prove he wasn't kidding he held her over the cliff with just one arm. He had no problem doing it. Eve had always been small and she saw no point in trashing around and risking falling down. If she had the chance, she would bite him and try to get free.

The monster said: "Let her go and I'll give it to you."

"No, we'll do it at the same time."

Eve saw with dismay as the man offered her to the monster and the thing extended its arms holding the notebook in one hand. She started struggling to get out of the man's grip. The man took a step away from the cliff and then it all went so fast Eve could barely tell what had happened.

The monster cried out: "You'd let her fall anyway. I won't have what I want but neither will you!"

Then the thing shoved the notebook against her belly. She closed her eyes fearing the monster's touch. But she couldn't feel anything and when she opened one eye she saw the notebook going right through her.

The man shouted: "No!"

The monster crumbled into a pile of sand and Eve fell to the ground as the man let her go. She was on her hands and knees, tingling all over and feeling nauseated. The man laid her on the grass, cradling her head. He whispered in her ear: "I wouldn't have harmed you. I just wanted to protect you from that thing."

Eve wanted to believe him but she couldn't answer. She rolled her eyes and fainted. The man looked at the girl through narrowed eyes. He felt her all over trying to find a trace of the notebook on her. Then he lifted her blouse and pressed his hand against the child's belly. When he took his hand off, he was smiling. '_Maybe not everything is lost. Maybe, just maybe, what has happened is indeed lucky_.' He picked up the girl and took her back home. He left her on a bench in the porch. He couldn't resist stealing one last backward glance at her small figure as he faded away.

Matthew found the girl lying on the porch's bench. It had begun raining and he had gone out to look for her. She had a high fever and was unconscious. He rushed her into the house and told his father.

When Eve woke up two days later, she couldn't remember what she had been doing in the porch. All that had happened from the moment she had seen Matthew walking down the driveway was erased from her mind. Still, she felt different, colder, a bit sad, and, for the first time in her life, lonely.

_**5.3 Don't kill the messenger:**_

_The Shinigami Realm, human time not available, The Shinigami's King's Throne Hall:_

Jastin, The Bejeweled Skeleton, approached the King with a sense of dread. He hated being the bearer of such news. But it was his duty to report the death of every Shinigami. He was the only one who could see how they happened. What he had seen left him worried, so he could only take a small nap before going to present his report. He didn't want to incur in the King's wrath. He didn't want to get an 8th level punishment.

The King was sited on his throne staring into nothing. The Bejeweled Skeleton cleared his throat and said: "Sire."

After a while the King answered: "Yes."

"Sapphire is dead."

The King's eyes shinned with a red tint: "Dead?"

"Yes, Sire." He knew what the King was thinking. He had thought it too. Who wouldn't worry after finding out that one of the two Shinigamis who could make Death Notes had died? Plus Sapphire had been the best. Even the King admitted it, though he was the other Shinigami who could make them.

The Kings voice was deep and troubled: "How?"

"She tried to save the girl she liked to watch."

"Damn female!"

He just nodded, the female's maternal instinct was something he couldn't understand either: "But what troubles me, Sire, is what happened to her Death Note."

The King looked inquiringly at him. Usually they wouldn't worry about that. After a Shinigami died the power that hunted the Death Note would die too, eventually. Of course that could take years to happen in the mortal world, but that was of no concern to them. Occasionally they might decide to send another Shinigami to replace the one who'd die but they only did it when there were especial circumstances.

"Explain!" The King ordered.

Jastin tried his best to describe what he had seen. He couldn't understand it and he feared that neither would the King.

The monarch's eyes where shinning with Hell's fires when he ordered: "Fetch me Ryuk."

The Bejeweled Skeleton nodded and stifled a shiver. He wouldn't want to be in Ryuk's shoes for all the time in the world.

_**Next on Kira's Kingdom-Scroll 6: To Hell with Clubs and Swords. Ryuk faces the consequences of his actions and the Shinigami can no longer ignore the living Death Note that might threaten their very existence.**_

_Usually that'd be it, but I have a small treat for all of you who enjoyed the song of the first anime opening of Death Note as much as I did: the Romaji version of the lyrics so you can sing along. Enjoy:_

_Hirogaru yami no naka kawashiatta kakumei no chigiri  
Aishita yue ni mebaeta aku no hana  
Kore kara saki otozureru de arou subete wo  
Dare ni mo jama saseru wake ni wa ikanai kara_

_Kajitsu ga tsugeta mirai  
Risei wo wasureta machi  
Kuroku yuganda ima wo  
Yume, risou ni kaeru_

_Doushite? Boku wa kowareta Messiah?  
__Dare mo ga nozonda "owaru" wo..._

_Itsuka boku ga misete ageru  
Hikari kagayaku sora wo_

_Doushite? Boku wa kowareta Messiah?  
__Dare mo ga yume mita "rakuen" wo..._

_Itsuka boku ga misete ageru  
Hikari kagayaku sekai wo_


	6. To Hell with Clubs and Swords

_**AN: First, thanks for the reviews. I'm amazed, pleased and a little bit scared that now I have to live up to such praises. I'll do my best. That being said, I think that Zeke-Z's Mello's clone comment deserves further exploring. That the resemblance exists is obvious, but that it was done so apparent on purpose might not be that evident, read on an you'll find out why. In fact it is a clue to my take on a solution to the Wammy's star alumni mystery (yup, I think there's a mystery). Second, I apologize for messing up Jastin's name in chapter 5 (I called him Jasper…too much catnip I guess). Also, though I'm using some of the Shinigami included in the HTR13, their ranks, genders and nicknames are not canon, except for Ryuk's (I chose the manga's character design because they are a bit darker and I think they are so very beautiful). These changes make the Shinigami work better for my story, so I hope you don't mind. Finally, not that it really matters but just in case you wonder, pass the skull is my askew Shinigami version of pass the pig, a game of chance that uses rubber pigs instead of dices ( honest to god this game exists and i**__**t's actually fun to play, you get points depending on how the hogs land, reality is stranger than fiction).**_

**Kira's Kingdom**

**Scroll 6- **_**To Hell with Clubs and Swords**_

_**6.1 Leading Questions and Hearsay Evidence**_

"_If you give me six lines written by the most honest man, I will find something in them to hang him." Cardinal Richelieu  
_"_He who has the courage to laugh is almost as much a master of the world as he who is ready to die." Giacomo Leopardi_

_The Shinigami Realm, the Shinigami's King's Throne Hall, first day of the 108th Shinigami Synod:_

The Synod had gathered and the Seven were already sited in the King's Throne Hall. Ryuk find it amusing that only six Shinigami were ranked nine. Once they had been nine Niners. But it was decided the Old man was "too great" for ranks, Zerhogie had been demoted and then Sapphire had kicked the bucket. Everything seemed to be dwindling and rotting in the Shinigami Realm, though some things seemed to resist the test of time better than others. The Seven Synodal Examiners could still cut an impressive figure if they set their minds to doing it. And it was obvious that they had decided to give it a try.

The King remained unseen. Lately the Old man never appeared in public unprotected by the field of darkness that few Shinigami's eyes could pierce. At the King's left, Jastin sat on his throne of skulls. The Bejeweled Skeleton was covered in even more trinkets than usual. He had chosen the color red for his adornment. In the light of the twilight sun he looked like a bloodied Aztec idol.

At the King's right sat a female, though no one could guess that at first glance. Nu, The Watcher, was sited on a semicircle cut from what had been a giant pearl. The half pearl had been hollowed out to accommodate her mollusk-like body. Her pearly white skin blended with her sit, so she looked like a mass of flickering eyes. Eyeballs kept popping open on her. Then they seemed to fix their gaze on something and after a few seconds they blinked out of existence. But they were promptly replaced by others. Ryuk didn't look at her for long, she made his head spin. She was the only Shinigami who could look at the mortal world without using the hole, and she could look at different locations simultaneously.

Beside Jastin sat Kinddara Guivelostain. He lay propped on an awkward iron framework covered with the tanned hide of an unknown beast. The gadget looked like a badly made deckchair that was about to fall apart, but that thing was older than most of the Shinigami that stared at it with mocking smiles. The Blind Maw was the tallest of the Seven and he was as odd as his chair. His body looked as if it were made of overlapping leather straps, fixed on several bony ridges that covered his arms, legs and ran down his spine and ribcage. His face looked like the handiwork of a rabid ax-man. His ovoid head was covered in dark leather too. It had an oozing crack right in the middle of it and the only other thing that showed from a gash on the bottom of the mask was the toothy grin that gave him his name. Some Shinigami said the Blind Maw had torn his mask open with one bite the first time he spoke. He was known for being mostly silent, but when he spoke he had amazing insights into the workings of this and other worlds. No one knew where his ideas came from and after facing a few minutes of Kinddara's silence nobody bothered to ask again.

On Nu's right sat Dalil Guillortha, The Destiny Odalisque, a Shinigami with hands and legs like a crow's feet. Her face was a shinny red skull and a long dark piece of raven silk fell from her forehead all the way to her back. She wore white pantaloons and white sleeves made out of the same silky material. She had an oriental looking embroidered coif that fixed her veil to her head. A single strand of crystal beads went from one ear to the other, framing her dark tresses and bony chin. She sat cross-legged on a black cushion set over a shimmering low stool. The stool was made out of minute glossy tiles that formed geometrical designs in black, red and white. She was the one charged with making the Death Note's covers and she could also foresee some events while dancing in trance.

The last Shinigami on the King's left was Galikareha. He looked reptile-like. He had a lizard's face with tusks protruding from his lower lip and a series of eyelid-less orbits circling his oblong head. His well toned green body was only covered by a loincloth and a furry short cape surrounded his shoulders. The Executioner was kneeling on a square straw mat surrounded with quilted cushions he refused to use. The mat was finely woven and had stylized images of hunting scenes. It was as old as time, a memento from a time when the Shinigami realm had game that could actually be hunted. Galikareha's infamous scythe was placed besides him. The comfort he didn't afforded to his own knees he gave to his weapon, which was lying over one of the cushions. Even if all the Shinigami were killers and even if Galikareha only raised his scythe against his kin under the Synod's orders, Ryuk had always thought he was the craziest of the lot.

Finally, the last Shinigami that sat on the King's right was Meadra, she was leaning on a Jade chaise longue delicately carved to look as if it were made out of fern leaves. The Wind Spinner was the smallest of the seven when it came to height, though she was by far the widest. She looked like a cross between a toad and a gecko. Her translucent skin changed colors to reflect her mood just like a chameleon's would. And she was also like a litmus test- lie detector. If she willed to, she would turn red when someone was lying and blue when they were telling the truth.

There was a smaller stone pedestal in front of the seven. Ryuk looked with uneasiness at the Shinigami crouching on it. That place belonged to the Death God who had been chosen as the devil's advocate. Pasht was young, too eager for his own good and he was a fourth rank male with a lion's head. He was also known as The Hellcat, for he roared and hissed at anyone who dared to invite him to play dread yahtzee or pass the skull. The Hellcat was one of the few Shinigami who still filled his note religiously. He spent long hours watching Earth from afar, though he strongly opposed any other form of contact with the mortal world.

It was common knowledge that Pasht saw his election as the devil's advocate as a chance to redeem his family name. After all, he was related to Shidoh, who was known in some circles as the brainless canary. And, to make matters worst, he was related to Phibeseth too. It was also common knowledge that he'd only been chosen because Sapphire was dead, but that made him be even more decided to prove his worth to the King.

He hated Ryuk. First because of a personality clash, second because of what he called Shidoh's humiliation at Ryuk's hands and third because he considered himself Rem's friend. Nobody really liked the Hellcat but Rem was also a fourth and she had been kind to him, as she was to everyone else. Still he had respected her and found yet another cause for resentment in her dead at the hands of the human to whom Ryuk had handed the Note. As if he had chose who would pick it up, Ryuk let out a short puff of air through his nostrils and casually scratched behind his ear, that didn't bode well.

He sighed. Suddenly he had the urge to take a bite from a big red, juicy apple. A real apple, mind you, not the crappy ones he could get in the Shinigami Realm. In spite of everything, he appeared surprisingly calmed. Especially considering that some thought he was responsible for the events that had persuaded the King of Death to convene the Synod. He had to suppress a smirk, he was enjoying the ruckus. He'd been having a hard time fighting boredom since Light had died. And he had acquired a taste for legal docudramas during his stay on Earth.

In fact, Ryuk liked stories in general. One had been playing recurrently on his mind lately. The one about Phibeseth the Tanite, a third rank female Shinigami who looked like a double headed mummified catwoman. She was one of the oldest Death Gods and she was a notorious scatterbrain. Some Shinigami joked that she was like that because her two heads couldn't agree on who should work first, so neither of them did. Due to one of her blunders she had been the first to let a human share the Death Note's power.

As the story went, she had lost her Note when an ibis had startled her while she took a stroll looking for targets in the mortal world. That would have been a worrisome occurrence in any circumstance. But it became a major crisis because the scatterbrain had written some of the rules of usage in her Note, for reasons only known to her. She had used the formal Shinagami scripture, which was very similar to the Egyptian Demotic.

Then fate played her hand and the Death Note had ended up falling on the head of a Bastet priest. The priest was sitting under some papyrus reeds by the river and was seriously considering committing regicide followed by public suicide as a statement of his opinion about the state of the Empire. He was praying for guidance and saw what had been nothing more than a coincidence as a sign of the gods' favor. '_Mortals tend to cling to the most stupid notions.'_

It was a match made in Hell, '_if that place is something other than mortal's wishful thinking'_. Phibeseth might not have been the sharpest knife in the drawer but, even back then, she had an uncanny memory and knew all the rules of Death Notes by heart. Plus, soon after she arrived on Earth, Phibeseth had become addicted to the priest's skillful technique for scratching her behind the ears. She had four of those, and she had ended up purring out all the info that she hadn't written, in exchange for the scratching. '_Who could blame her? Deprivation syndrome is a bitch'_. As for Padimahes, the priest, he proved he had all the brains the pair needed. That bastard had known how to extract gold from the basest veins and had used the scatterbrain Shinigami's abilities to full advantage.

In a time when Bastet priesthood was nothing more than a bunch of glorified morticians, he had managed, with the aid of the Death Note and Phibeseth's looks, to make Bastet the protector of the whole empire. He had come close to giving back the cat goddess her standing as the supreme sun goddess; under his tutelage, of course. Additionally, Padhimahes also had a more practical outlook on how to change the world. He started a revolt against Nectanebo II and proclaimed himself king of the low empire. He used the alias Khababash for his military pursues. That came from khabbaz (baker), in honor of his Lybian mother's language and his Egyptian father's trade. The only thing that had stopped Padimahes from becoming a full-fledged pharaoh had been bad luck and a man called Artaxerxes. Xerxex had been an Achaemenid king who, by the way, didn't get to enjoy his victory as he was poisoned soon after conquering Egypt.

Had Padimahes timed Artaxerxes' dead better, the history books would tell a very different story. Or maybe not; the Fates spin a taut thread around those mortals foolish enough to use Death Notes. And everyone knows that a tightly drawn thread is more likely to snap. Even killing Artaxerxes couldn't change Padimahes' luck. Back then conclusive proofs were not a necessity for getting a conviction and the priest had bore the responsibility for Xerxe's death.

Padimahes was tortured until he begged to be killed, his name was erased from all the records and he was denied a proper burial. With that in mind, Ryuk firmly believed he had done Light a favor by writing his name on his Note. After all, he had spared the once proud man and what was left of his family the humiliation of imprisonment and a public execution.

The only thing that had survived of the priest's former glory was a statue of him stroking a large double-headed image of Bastet that to this day was kept in the vaults of the Louvre Museum. Rumor had it that the statue was cursed, since each and every curator who had intended to showcase it had died a mysterious death. Ryuk chuckled. Pasht was behind all those deaths. The Hellcat wasn't about to let what he saw as a sign of his family's dishonor to be displayed for those "filthy mortals" amusement". Ryuk laughed between teeth: '_That's a spoilsport for you, though I doubt the cat would recognize fun if it bites him in the tail'._

As for Khababash's fate, the rebel pharaoh's identity remained an unsolved historical mystery. That first experience with Death Notes and mortals went wrong in the end and, judging from all the others, a pattern had emerged. '_Still, it is so much fun that who can resist throwing one once in a while?'_

It was an odd coincidence that both the "accused" and the "prosecutor" shared the same thoughts, though not in the same spirit. Pasht was also enjoying the small commotion caused by the Synod while thinking about his kinsmen. Pasht thoughts had followed a similar path to Ryuk's with one small difference: he'd always known that nothing good could come from consorting with the ephemeral. And now he felt he'd been proven right.

In Pasht's opinion, which he voiced both loudly and frequently, the only good that had come out of Phibeseth's adventure was the rule that forbade Shinigami to aid any mortal in possession of a Death Note. If he'd had a say back then he would have forbidden any Shinigami from contacting the mortals at all.

He also felt secretly pleased that proof of him being right had been delivered to his doorstep in a way in which Ryuk would carry the blame. That thought made him want to dance on the tip of his paws. He'd wanted to take revenge on the brute who had tricked his idiotic cousin out of his Death Note for quite a long time. What incensed his rage the most was that poor stupid Shidoh was actually grateful with Ryuk for getting his Note back. Because, even after having time to carefully analyze what had happened, Shidoh couldn't see how he'd been played. And Pasht had passed long fruitless hours trying to get that into his bird's brain.

Anger and joy mixed inside him but Pasht managed to keep his countenance serene as he jumped down from the stone pedestal. He stood on his hind legs and started pacing in front of the Shinigamis who were gathered in a semicircle around the Seven. He straightened his tail and said: "Armonia Jastin Beyondllemanson, Keeper of the Scrolls of Law, speak up! Tell all who are gathered here what you saw the day Sapphire died!"

The Bejeweled Skeleton frowned. He didn't like the youth's tone. It sounded as if he was ordering him around. Jastin stood up and tried to look regal, it didn't take too much effort and that made Pasht shrink away a little.

Ryuk hid a yawn and turned around to face Gook, a Death God who looked like an African witch doctor with an antelope's skull for a face. Ryuk sometimes played dice with him: "Wanna play pass the skull?"

Gook looked at Ryuk questioningly: "Don't you want to listen to this?"

Ryuk shrugged: "Nope, I already have. If you play me I'll put it all in."

Ryuk had listened to the story a while ago, when the matter had been first brought to the King's attention. Back then it had been decided they would wait and see what happened. Both Jastin and the King had thought that since no one was hunting her, the girl-Death Note would lose her powers eventually. That hadn't happened yet and hence, the Synod had gathered.

Ryuk's proposition was very interesting to Gook. Ryuk had quite the loot from his past games. And the last time they had played he had won one of Gook's favorite necklaces with an awesome double leaning jowler. After some thought the antelope faced Shinigami nodded in agreement and took out his skulls.

Pasht threw the pair a sideways glance and had to repress an angry squeal: '_How dares he?'_ He decided he would make Ryuk regret ignoring him. He had planned to ask for the fourth level of punishment but now he would go for the third. '_Let him be skinned alive and twist in a rope until he dies_.' That's the least he deserved for having agreed to be a human's lapdog. Ryuk was a shame to all Shinigamis; an example had to be made out of him.

As soon as Jastin had finished his story Pasht asked: "And you are sure that the human you saw was Light Yagami?"

"Yes. I once looked at him through the hole when Shidoh came back and told me how he'd recovered his Death Note."

"And you are positively sure that this is the same man that Ryuk gave a Death Note to?"

Jastin's frown deepened: "Are you trying to imply that I'm lying, Hellcat?"

"Of course not, Bejeweled Skeleton. I'm just saying you might have confused him." Calling him by his nickname was borderline insult, especially because he indeed was implying that Jastin was either a liar or a fool.

Armonia Jastin Beyondllemanson turned to face Meadra: "Wind Spinner, I besiege you. Show the Hellcat his error. I would say once more that I'm sure that the man I saw was Light Yagami."

Meadra nodded and turned bright blue, a murmur rose from all the Shinigamis. But Pasht seemed unfazed: "That means nothing. If you had confused him you could say that and you wouldn't be lying, but that wouldn't prove that the man was actually Light Yagami."

Jastin gasped and took a step towards Pasht. The King waved him back into his sit then he faced the devil's advocate and asked: "What are you getting at, Pasht?"

"Sire, it's just an innocent question. When I was asked to act as devil's advocate and the facts were presented to me, the first thing that came to my mind was to ask why everyone was so sure that this man was the same Ryuk had met. Wasn't he supposed to stay by his side until he died or lost the Death Note's ownership?"

"You are well aware of the rules of Death Notes, as should any Shinigami. Are you saying that Ryuk didn't obey them? What do you have to say about this, Ryuk?"

Ryuk looked up from the game but he kept a hand hovering over the skulls, so Gook wouldn't try to shift them around: "Sire, I did stay until the very end. I even wrote his name on my Note."

Then Ryuk took it out and showed the page to the Seven, balancing on one leg and putting a foot over the skulls. That gained him a round of amused laughter from the rest of the Shinigami. Gook had a reputation for cheating.

Pasht wanted to guffaw too, but not from Ryuk's impish antics, he had him: "But then, how can he be the same man, Sire? That's not possible. Unless Ryuk had made a mistake or unless his Death Note had been tampered with."

Ryuk finally saw what that darn cat was trying to do. He had told the King almost the whole story of his time on Earth when he had been called by Jastin. The Old man was fuming with anger and Ryuk had lied as little as reasonably possible; so he had mentioned that one of the mortals had done a counterfeit of a Death Note.

"I didn't make a mistake. As no sixth ranked Shinigami would. And I would never let anyone touch my Death Note, it works fine and that can be easily proved."

Pasht thought he would say as much: "Well then, write a name on the same page you wrote Light's name, Ryuk. Prove your claim."

Pasht waited with a smug little grin. He knew he couldn't be wrong. After mortals die all that expects them is nothingness and as such is the truth, what he had thought was the only possible explanation.

Ryuk agreed and Nu was asked to act as witness since they all couldn't look through the hole. Ryuk chose a man on a motorbike and, shortly after writing his name, the man grabbed at his jacket and fell down to pavement. The motorbike continued to move without its rider. Then it fell too and kept spinning until a car hit it. The woman driving the car came out and saw the rider, she let out a scream.

"You see, I wasn't lying, Hellcat."

"No you weren't, at least not about that. But you have condemned yourself, Ryuk. Your Death Note has not been tampered with and you didn't make a mistake. That has been proved beyond the shadow of a doubt. And so the only explanation that it's left is that you failed to kill Light Yagami on purpose. So we must ask ourselves what was your involvement in the creation of the monstrosity that has made us gather here. Please Meadra, make sure he doesn't lie when he answers." Pasht ended. He didn't bother to hide a triumphal smile as he shook his mane.

"Sire, maybe we should take a break."

"Why is that so, Ryuk?

"I fear the Hellcat has sniffed too much catnip. He looks like he's about to snuff it."

Meadra shone blue and Pasht went red. Then he cried out: "You impertinent brute! If anyone is going to die, it won't be me. I'll teach you not to make fun of this Synod! I request that Ryuk is immediately put under arrest and I also request the extreme level punishment for his heinous crime!"

Hell broke lose. The murmur that had began rising from the Shinigami's ranks since Pasht had started speaking grew to an uproar. Mostly composed by laughter, though some were beginning to wonder what all this meant.

The King's eyes shone like carbuncles: "Silence!" When the ripples died out he turned to Pasht: "Why are you so sure that yours is the only plausible explanation, Pasht?"

"Because if Light Yagami had died then he would have puffed into nothingness and then The Bejeweled Skeleton wouldn't have been able to see him doing what he did."

"Is that so? Do you have anything to say to this, Ryuk?"

"Light Yagami died, Sire. That's all I have to say."

"Then how was he seen both by Jastin and Sapphire, Sire. How can that be so if he is not alive?"

Ryuk sniggered: "If you are so sure he is alive, then you could spend your remaining lifetime trying to use the hole to locate him, Hellcat. Let's see if you can."

"That wouldn't make sense, since I've never seen him before. Make him do it, Sire."

"Sire, you've already requested this and I told you I can't. Please ask the Wind Spinner to ratify I'm not lying."

Meadra shone blue and nodded once more. Pasht threw her an angry look. He was starting to suspect the toad was in cahoots with the oaf: "I've already said that proves nothing, other than Ryuk believes that to be the truth."

"So you are basically saying I can't see him because I think I can't. That sounds really stupid, Hellcat." Ryuk scratched his head: "Well, if everything I say is going to be questioned whether I lie or not, then this whole affair is pointless. I guess we are stumped."

A small smile played on the Death King's lips: "That's not necessarily true. Nu, be my eyes and locate this Light Yagami for me."

Nu shook like a jelly fish and all her eyes seemed to focus on the horizon. Then they disappeared leaving her looking like a pearly blob. Slowly her eyes began to form again and she spoke: "Sire, I can't. He's nowhere to be seen."

Pasht hissed: "That proves nothing. This is all part of his trickery!"

Ryuk snorted: "Too much catnip, I tell you."

"Is that your final word, Ryuk? Won't you say anything else?"

"Like what, Sire?"

"To begin with, how about an alternative explanation that would prevent you from facing death, Ryuk"

"Sire, the only thing that I know for sure is that I wrote Light's name with the intention of killing him and that, to my knowledge, he died. I even saw his burial. Beyond that I can't pose any explanation. But how could I, Sire? If the Seven have been trying to figure it out and haven't been able to."

"So you won't venture a guess, even if your head is on the line?"

Ryuk balanced the aforementioned head trying to think: "Well, I dunno for sure, but maybe it has to do with that rule that says: The human who uses this note can neither go to Heaven nor Hell."

Pasht screeched: "Bullshit! We all know that was only put in the scrolls to ease the feebleminded. I can also quote them: All humans, without exception, eventually die. After they die, the place they go to is MU (nothingness). Once dead, they can never come back to life. That is the truth."

"That is not the truth." Everyone stood speechless. Kinddara Guivelostain had spoken.

The devil's advocate reeled, how could he be so unlucky? The old leather pouch had finally gone senile and that foolish maw had chosen to make his swan chant an acquittal to Ryuk. Before Pasht could say anything, Kinddara began repeating what he had just said over and over. Meadra started to flicker with a bright blue shine. She didn't seem to be able to control it.

Dalil Guillortha stood up and began dancing with her black veil floating about her. She put a claw forward and swung her hips. Then she crouched to the floor, arching her back. She rose back slowly, swinging her arms and belly in a snake-like fashion. When she finally stopped she raised her head. Her eye sockets were empty as she cackled: "The slow burning coal finally cools and all crumbles to ashes." Then she clumped face down making a small cloud of desert dust fly around her.

Jastin rose promptly to help Dalil up, but the moment he touched her he fell to the ground too. His bones and jewelry began rattling as he twisted and turned like a fish out of the water. Between spasms he cried out: "All hope is gone. The Nothing will devour us all!"

Nu began blinking furiously and Galikareha stood up with one long fluid movement. The Executioner stepped out of his mat and went to stand by the King's side. He guarded the monarch, wielding his scythe against an unseen enemy. The rest of the Shinigami went into hysterics. Their murmured bantering had turned into panicky screams.

The monarch's shield crackled and rumbled. It began to grow until it enclosed all the Shinigami and plunged them into darkness. When the light came back they all sat down in silence. The King spoke with a soft voice: "This merits further consideration. For now the Seven will ponder the matter in private. You may all leave, except for Pasht and Ryuk."

The Shinigami left cowering in small groups, whispering about what had happened. Finally only the Seven plus Pasht and Ryuk remained.

Jastin spoke: "This isn't the first time we have signs of the gravity of this matter, when Sapphire died and we discussed about this The Blind Maw spoke too."

Ryuk merely nodded. Pasht couldn't answer, his foundations had been shaken. One of the truths that he held most sacred had tumbled down. For a minute he thought that Dalil's prophecy had already happened. The Shinigami desert, which had always been his home, seemed like an ashen moor that was about to be blown away.

"Back then the King also asked Nu to locate Light Yagami. As it happened now, she couldn't. I'll let her tell you what came next."

The Watcher's eyes sluggishly appeared on her body as she was recuperating from the blow. Her voice dripped in small gushes: "As I couldn't see the man, the Death King asked me to locate the girl. I kept my eyes on her for some time and became convinced that the Death Note's powers had driven her mad. When I presented my findings to the rest of the Synod, the King proposed an alternative explanation for the girl's conduct. He then asked Galikareha to watch her closely, please tell them what you concluded from your vigilance."

Galikareha changed his scythe from one hand to the other. He wasn't much of a speaker, so he paused for a moment to order his thoughts: "The girl was conversing with someone I couldn't see. This was not a due to a sick mind, as I'm sure the other person answered her, even if I couldn't hear him. Once I saw a glass move in her room without her touching it, and another time I saw a needle scribbling over her skin on its own accord."

Pasht clung to his sanity: "Are you telling us the girl is psychic? Is she responsible for what happened now?"

The Executioner denied: "No. Neither she nor any other human may enter the Shinigami Realm. And as I said, I'm sure someone else was with her, though I couldn't see him."

"So this other person you speak of, is he responsible?"

"Pasht, your duties as devil's advocate are over. Quit interrogating the Synod."

"Sorry, Sire. It's just that I can't see the point of all this. And I must remind you, Sire that my duties aren't over until a verdict is reached and the culprit's fate is decided."

While the King's shield had covered them Ryuk had sprouted his wings. He spread them as he spoke: "Isn't it obvious, Hellcat? The Seven are trying to tell us that Ligth Yagami was with this girl. And nobody said anything about a culprit, so get off my neck."

"That's preposterous! How you've come to conclude that? And I'll get off your neck when it's no longer attached to your head."

Dalil spoke: "But that's precisely where this conversation is going. And you understand perfectly the consequences of it Pasht. That's what I foresaw in my dance. Something or someone is with the girl, casting a long shadow that threatens to cover their world and ours. We've come to believe that this is the being that was known once as Light Yagami. And Ryuk's innocence in this matter has never been in question."

Pasht huffed: "Innocence! How can you speak of his innocence, Dalil Guillortha? It was because of him that the man got access to a Death Note. I won't believe in ridiculous ghost stories and I don't believe Ryuk lose his note by accident. What's more, he is also responsible for not making sure the man passed away properly."

Meadra's skin had a soft yellow tint, she was exhausted: "It has been determined even before the 108th Synod was convened that Ryuk had no part in what happened to Sapphire. We also agreed that neither he nor anyone else could've foretold what would happen as a result of dropping his Death Note. If you can't present new proofs that contradict these findings then you must hold your peace Pasht."

Ryuk smirked: "Told you!"

Pasht spread out his arms dramatically: "Is this justice? Was this Synod nothing more than a travesty?"

Meadra ignored their intervention: "However, it is our belief that we can't rule out that Ryuk acted with malice in order to get hold of a second Death Note. Nor can we ascertain his true intentions when he threw it to the mortal world. And no one disputes that he tricked the King to get Shidoh's Note."

Pasht smirked: "Told you!"

Ryuk pouted: "But…"

The Seven spoke simultaneously: "Therefore, we have decided that since Ryuk's actions have prompted these events, he should play a part in the solution to this problem."

Pasht looked at the Death King: "That's your verdict, Synod Examiners?"

The Death King raised his hand and spoke: "Not quite. You've proven your worth to me, Pasht. You've exceeded my expectations with your performance as devil's advocate. That's why I've determined that you should go with Ryuk and see that you sort this out. I had thought that I'd send the Bejeweled Skeleton but it's lucky that the Synod can remain strong by being together. Nu will tell you what you will do, and you'll report to her frequently. I let you know that as of right now the Synod considers you two responsible for each other's conduct. I wish you good luck. And now we have other matters to discuss, you may be excused."

Before any of them could protest they were out of the King's shield. Save for Nu, the Seven were cloaked and they couldn't reach them. When the Watcher finished delivering her instructions she too faded in the dark.

Ryuk shrugged and then he let out a hearty laugh: "This situation promises to be interesting, at least for me. For you, Hellcat, it's a perfect opportunity to learn to be careful what you wish for."

Pasth let out a low growl: "Laugh while you can, oaf. You might enjoy being the human's lackey, but I'm vexed by this and I promise you that before we come back I will have found all the proofs I need to see you hang."

"That is, if we come back."

"What?"

"I said this situation promises to be amusing. But that's not all that this promises to be. Even someone as unimaginative as you must see that there's a fairly large chance that we don't come back at all. Light was something while he was alive. '_Best darn death god I've seen in ages'._ And I can't imagine what he has become. What I can imagine is that he won't be happy to see me. But before you start looking for proofs to hang me, remember that if we do come back, both of us will face the same destiny, since you will be held responsible for what I do. You'd better watch my back."

Light had taught Ryuk a thing or two about an effective exit. It was a real a pity that he could only look at the Hellcat's face from the corner of an eye as he flew away. He was enjoying himself, so much that he couldn't help chuckling. He hadn't had that much fun in a very long time. And he just couldn't believe that all it took was to see the Seven twisting on the ground for all the Shinigami to be convinced of what he already knew. Their pointless way of life was crumbling down. But now they couldn't look the other way. Now the boat was rocking and something must be done about it. Ryuk felt surprised to realize he cared as much for the Shinigami's destiny. Maybe something of Light's preaching had rubbed off on him. Yup, this promised to be really interesting.

_**Next on Kira's Kingdom, Scroll 7- Argumentum ad Captandum (Arguing to Charm the Crowd): Near deals a deathly blow against Kira's heralds and Light decides to take a risk and execute his plan. But he wasn't counting on an encounter with someone from his past. Will Ryuk be a foe or an ally this time around?**_


	7. Argumentum ad Captandum

_**AN: Thanks for reviews. Kalessin, my life's been hectic too; hence the belated posting. Sony Boy, in plain English: I think that there's something fishy about Wammy's**__** alumni. Nix, the diatribe about Mello's clone is now gone. Zeke-Z, don't expect rising bodies. There isn't one, most Japanese funerals include cremation. Stricto sensus Light's never left. Lato sensus, Kira's Kingdom is coming around chapter 15. I should be posting Cocytus as soon as I can. BTW, Cocytus is the ninth layer of Dante's Hell and the name of chapter 14 and, probably, chapter 15 since I've been unable to make Caina (where traitors to kin are punished), Antenora (the hell of traitors to country), Ptolomea (where traitors to guests are punished) and Judeca (the hell of traitors to masters and/or benefactors) fit into one. But it all depends on how much time I can steal from my house hunting forays. On another note: The name of Light's infantry, The Irregulars, is my homage to Conan Doyle's army of street urchins. Finally, Red paraphrases a poetic pun by James Joyce (some call it doggerel):**_

"_**If you see Kay,  
Tell him he may.  
See you in tea,  
Tell him from me."**_

_**Couldn't think of a better way of conveying what I wanted to say w**__**ithout actually swearing, I'm trying to cut down on that.**_

**Kira's Kingdom**

**Scroll 7: Argumentum ad Captandum (Arguing to Charm the Crowd)**

_**7.1 We were soldiers:**_

"… _perhaps, we would have been better off if we had valued our wellbeing above our reputation. But we weren't allowed to choose. At least we charged History a high price for our pelts, stabbing the World until there wasn't one of us left standing. Your graces might say that's a meager consolation, and you would be right. But we limited ourselves to doing the job, without any understanding of politics, philosophies or theologies. Pardiez! We were soldiers!"_

_From "The Adventures of Captain Alatriste: Corsairs of Levante" by Pérez-Reverte._

_Czech Republic, Prague's-Staré Mesto (old town) March 19th 2019, an antiques shop in Karlova Street:_

Red hated having to do chain gang labor, especially since she could have programmed Galileo to chip the stone. '_But no, I'm still paying for one little, minute, really minor mistake.'_ She frowned; maybe it was time to plead her case once more.

She turned around and opened her mouth. But before she could speak Black said curtly: "No."

"But you didn't even give me the chance to speak!"

"I've heard all that you have to say to the point where I'll gladly strangle you with my bare hands and, believe me, if you weren't the only one who can carry out this part of our plan, I would."

"At least let Mac help me!" She began spinning around in the chair.

"He can't. John's helping White and Matthew correct your mistake, sweetie."

Red put down a leg and stopped the chair, she yelled: "Hey! It wasn't just my mistake. But don't take my word on it, 'dear'. Ask Ghostie."

Only once before had Light felt the impulse of hitting a woman. That foul child's constant whining, combined with her calling him ghostie, tested what little patience he had. But he'd spent a couple of days trying to figure out how Galileo worked without being able to. The only thing he'd gotten out of it was a flashing message with profanities in five different languages that told him to stop what he was doing or suffer the consequences. The brat was perfectly capable of letting that Frankenstein of hers melt their whole computer net, so he had let it be.

Black sighed: "Sure, as if I hadn't heard enough of 'ghostie's' views on the subject. We're a dime a dozen stooges. And we balled up so badly that we should be hung by the thumbs. Isn't that right, Ghost?" asked the girl with a lopsided smile.

"You were leading; your responsibility was greater than theirs. And White did what she was supposed to, so make that two stooges." said Light with a crooked smile of his own.

Red pointed an accusing finger at Black: "Hah! See? Bet you're Moe! I call dibs on Curly, he was the funniest."

"Belt up! And continue with the judging."

Black didn't need another nagging voice. That post was taken. In fact, she was developing a chronic headache. There's a gypsy saying that bad luck comes in threesomes. Besides having to put up with that pair, the National Library was undergoing extensive reforms and finding the manuscripts she needed was getting increasingly harder. She was on the verge of doing something stupidly dangerous, like stealing them. And with Matthew following whatever leads White managed to get on the successors' whereabouts, she was beginning to dread the moment to come back home.

"Why do I have to do this by hand?"

Black rubbed her temples, tightly closing her eyes: "You're not doing all of them by hand. But those are too important. We can't let a machine do them."

"I don't understand why. Galileo can handle it. I could set up a series of parameters and…"

"You really can't see why?"

"No, I can't"

"This is the single most important part of our plan to bring about Kira's Kingdom. Last time Kira appeared it became evident that he depended on the law enforcement agencies and the mass media to find criminals. If those gits had had more cunning or guts they could've simply refused to report them. Almost ten years have passed and that means they've had enough time to think about it."

"They were and are spineless idiots. Back then all he had to do was to threaten to kill them for them to give in. Frankly, I don't think they've grown balls in just ten years. He could do the same and if the gits were willing to do the ultimate sacrifice, he could threaten to kill some innocent bystander. As for they trying to stop reporting the criminal's pictures, even back then people began posting them on the Internet. The www is something you can't stop."

"Given enough time anything changes, eventually the authorities could have hidden criminal records from the general public. And as time passed they would've gotten better at it. They could have set up an elite team of 'invisible' cops like the ones some countries used to fight terrorism back in the twentieth century. And in the end they would have realized, just as any government who has had to deal with terrorism in the long term, that the only viable policy is zero tolerance: You don't negotiate with terrorists. It takes balls for someone to be willing to pay the political costs of it but those are the sort of men and women who get elected in times like those. And you only need one hero type to make everything fall apart. Kira can't murder every single copper and reporter that resists him. Not to mention that threatening to kill innocent people if the reports don't go on would make him look like a mad serial killer. As it is, his 'statement' with the FBI agents was risky enough. Thank God the coopers where the first one interested in covering it up. That could've been the end of it. How can he represent justice when he is perceived as being unfair? And as for the posting of criminals by the 'victims', that's a sure bet for disaster."

"Why? I mean that way everyone has direct access to the judge."

"Isn't that brill? What a wonderful way to start a witch hunt! If I hate my neighbor then all I've to do is say that he raped me or robbed a bank, post his name and pray Kira will make a mistake and kill him."

"Kira could have asked for proof of the crime, like any other court."

"And you think that'd solve it? Let's say I'm a yakuza who wants to get rid of some obstacles. I might post my enemies names. I'll probably be able to deliver convincing evidence. Problem is that leaves out those enemies who aren't criminals. But wait, I can forge the evidence. Who can possibly verify everything? And that's all it takes for calling Kira's bluff, one obvious mistake."

"What's Kira supposed to be? Is not like the courts have never condemned an innocent and he could've checked out the facts before killing them."

"Kira is supposed to be a God! Godlike mistakes have to be swiftly swept under the rug before anyone has a chance to see them. And, are you saying that Kira could've single-handedly gone to each crime scene, find and interrogate the witnesses, collect all the evidence and do what the bloody police force of each and every country does?"

"So in the end fabulous God-Kira depends on the cops. That's lame."

Light smiled, Red had finally caught up. That's why he'd made Black the leader, she'd seen it right away and she'd come up with the idea to help Kira cut that Gordian knot after meeting Red. The moment she'd introduced Light to Galileo's inventor he'd seen the possibilities, even if Red herself couldn't.

"Nevertheless, Kira can become the ultimate judge. That's feasible."

"Ghostie, that's mad! If that's what you two are trying to do then you're crazier than I thought. That's impossible! We can't replace the cops."

Light laughed derisively: "We've never intended to replace the police. We're better off if they cooperate with us. You see, all along this has been psychological warfare. The only thing it takes is for people to believe that Kira's fair. And I managed to do that before. I made Kira's justice transparent and that's something the complex modern justice systems can't do. First, because I focused on a certain type of crime and second, because I made the punishment clear, direct and infallible. The message is the same for all: be righteous or die."

Black tipped an imaginary hat: "And all that was done by a high school student who only had access to mass media reports and the Japanese police. Nearly ten years have gone by since Kira stopped judging but the effects of his passing can still be felt. Now we can freely access, classify and process every police file in the world hacking into Interpol. And after the New Year what we've managed to do is to instill in everyone's mind that Kira's justice is better than all the others. Denounces of violent crimes increased when Kira first appeared and now the upward trend is back."

"Now I get it. I've been wondering what that part about bringing down criminals that the Interpol couldn't was all about. Gee, you two are good!"

"Allow me to show you just how much. Can you check the origin of the e-mails that people have been sending to Kira?"

"Oh yeah, wait a sec."

Black was beaming; she'd just bought herself about fifteen minutes of blessed silence.

"Wow! Sixty-five percent come from people related to the police and the courts. Some of them even used their real names! How did you know?"

"It was obvious. They know that Kira won't tattle and they know that he'll do what they can't: bring justice to the victims of the crooks that get away from their nets. That's why we can't leave those to Galileo. He can handle the rest, but I need you and your Irregulars to deal with those personally. If we convince those, soon enough, we'll have everyone on our side and the world will be ours to rule."

"Whoa! Wait a minute. You can't deduce that from those premises."

Black thought Red could be really dense sometimes: "Just think: what's the main function of any government?"

"Charging taxes, administrating and sometimes robbing the money they get from that?"

"No, taxes are relatively new and governments have existed longer than that. Twenty-first century countries, tribes of prehistoric hunter-gatherers, sophisticate Greek state-cities and modern day nomads, they all need leaders. Their main function is and has always been the monopoly of violence. They defend the group from others and within the group replace the justice by your own hand system that would make all human society impossible. If Kira becomes the sole lawgiver and justice imparter then there won't be crimes or wars to fight. Governments become redundant and Kira's then the effective ruler of the world. They could still function as administrators, but everyone would behave properly under the watchful eye of the new God. They recognized this and countries with the weakest leaders were the first to give in."

"They recognized it?"

"At some level they recognized it, for they surrendered. And the beauty of it is that the world doesn't have to follow the reasoning. They'll understand this basic truth intuitively; just the same way they know the sun goes up every morning. One day we'll all wake up with the certainty that justice prevails and that the righteous can lead a peaceful life. You're contributing to bring about that day."

"Then I should focus on it exclusively. And the L's successors won't matter at all."

"No, we still have to destroy them. But that's White's group job. You get your Irregulars on the sixty-five percent, supervise them carefully. And if you really want to help, work on that machine of yours and tell me where on earth I can catch a Shinigami."

Red knew that meant that the big cheese wanted a progress report. She sighed. At least Black didn't ask to have them in writing: "As of right now, I'll have to say nowhere. All I have are cold traces of their passing. And all I can vouch for are small outbreaks from the 1800's to date. The few death records that exist before that are so full of it they're useless. Even now some coroners write natural causes instead of cardiac arrest in the death certificates. Lazy bastards! That really messes up my statistics. But there's definitely a pattern of sudden cardiac deaths. I made a map. Looksie, it's got prutty colors. Deaths lump in some places and even during some times of the year. The circles delimit their 'hunting grounds'. I think they do most long distance. But if they come down, there's a 45 percent probability they'll do it in places that seem familiar. I've managed to individualize them by profiling their victims. Their killings aren't random. For what Ghostie tells me about his conversations with the death god, they aren't aware of it, but they have an affinity to certain type of prey which makes the pattern of their killings predictable. Also Ghostie and I have built a prototype of my Death Note tracker. Eventually it'll lead us to them. It's amazing that people haven't noticed this before"

"Is not that amazing, no one notices what no one is looking for. As for your prototype, are you sure it works?"

Light and Red glared angrily at her. Black raised her hands conciliatorily, she wasn't questioning their abilities.

"If you see Kay, you say hello from me. It's not rocket science. It's nothing more than a Gaussmeter. I built one at Wammy's when I was eight. I used it to scare the neighbors saying I've found dangerous EMFs caused by hidden power lines." Red had a dreamy those-were-the-days look on her face.

Black raised an eyebrow: "Then what's wrong with the bills you've been giving to me? Are you trying to diddle us? On that subject, what's this about a dressing gown?"

_'Leave it to the pencil pusher to ruin everyone's fun'_, Red thought: "Forget the gown, that's been taken care of." She smiled '_Thank you Mac'_. "And this device is more expensive 'cause we're looking for a specific wavelength. But the principle is the same. Whatever mojo powers Death Notes it is energy, and energy is measurable. Very much so, those notebooks produce an RF field. When they are working it measures in quads, to be precise: 0.0001 quads. And, to put it in terms you can understand, the entire world's energy usage is about 300 quads per year."

Black nearly fell from her chair: "Cor Blimey!

"Yeah, that's scary. If they blow up Krakatoa will look like a firecracker. I'm still trying to figure out why the users don't get fried, think about a giant microwave oven. By the way, I want some skin samples from you. I'm running them through the chromatographer. Right now our device pinpoints you and White's note and the minute anything arrives within range this'll tell us."

Light already knew all this and hadn't intended for Black to find out more than the strictly necessary, so he asked: "Is that all?"

"I also have some eyewitnesses' diaries. I've catalogued them by date and then I sorted them out by relevance."

"Figures" Black muttered. She had a hard time putting up with Red's draconic housecleaning. Oath had been raised in a house with two men and was used to a laxer sense of order. She didn't like living in a pigsty -as Red had suggested- but she didn't feel the need to put tags on the veggies to arrange them in the fridge alphabetically.

Red ignored her: "The most relevant is a novel by Aloysius Sterling. It had a minor success back in the 90's and it's about a boy who finds a cursed book in a vacant lot. It's out of print but I got hold of a copy. I haven't read it. It's more than four hundred pages long! You'd think they paid him by the pound. Lucky for us they made a movie called Dangerous Wishes. It went straight to video. It took me a while to be able to watch it 'cause it's VHS. The movie sucks big time but the story sounds familiar." Red started imitating a cheap horror flick narrator's voice: "Alain Stone finds a black book and picks it up. After the boys who used to bully him go missing, Alain learns that getting what you wish for can condemn your soul." They were looking at her through narrowed eyes, so she continued in her normal voice: "The book's pages are blank and Alain begins using it like a diary. He liked to imagine ways of getting back at people who were mean to him and, oh surprise, all the people whose names he'd written died in the same way he'd pictured it. Then a Grim Reaper wannabe who claims that he's the rightful owner of the book appears to tempt him into the dark side. Alain is too yellow to be tempted. He ends up burning the book."

"This Grim Reaper character, could it be a Shinigami?" Black asked.

"Might be, I've never seen one myself. In the movie it's some guy in a skull mask and a huge feathered headpiece that looks like a Sioux warrior zombie. The only thing I don't get is why Chief Dead Horse comes with a plastic pirate's hook accesory."

Light said: "I've seen this Shinigami. He's called Zerhogie."

"Any idea of how he got the hook?" Light gave Red the evil eye. She pouted: "Gee, I was just curious! The author did a cameo as one of the characters: Professor Evans. He's Alain's math teacher and it's a Van Helsing clone. Guess where he finds out how to rid the boy of the Reaper?"

Light wasn't in the mood for games he asked in an impatient tone: "Where?"

"In a sixteenth century esoteric book called "Auf den Göttern des Todes" attributed to Phillip von Hohenheim."

Black looked up from the book written by the same author she'd been reading: "The movie actually mentions Paracelsus' treatise on the gods of death?"

"Do you believe in coincidences? Well, happy coincidences don't end there. The movie makes a vague reference to a way of imprisoning these Reaper beings with some sort of seal. The rest of the seal plot didn't make it to the final cut, though."

"That comes straight from Paracelsus' book. What do we know of this Aloysius?"

"For starters that Aloysius Sterling was a pseudonym."

Black cackled: "I could've guessed that. We also know that A.S. likes to be consistent. A fiver says Alain Stone is a Gary-Stu."

Red didn't take bets she was going to lose for sure: "We know more than that. Aloysius was a one hit wonder. He never published anything else and would've faded into an untraceable anonymity if it weren't for the fact that he married the movie's teen starlet: Beverly Miles. Beverly is best known as Bevy Rosebud. After a couple of years of waiting for a break in tinsel town she gave up. By then she was a poor divorcée, so she moved to San Fernando Valley and went on to have a rather successful career in porn. She worked 'til last year. Yucky, she must have had more work done on her hide than what you've done to that flying tin can of yours."

"And all this is of any interest to us, because?" Black was taping a pen over her desk, feeling slightly annoyed by the brat's put down –she was very fond of her airplane.

"'Cause after the big AIDS scare in 2004 and the new workplace regulations for the adult industry in 2009, they started keeping very good employee records. The files include a, dunno, guess you could call it curriculum. Basic data, testing schedules and results, plus some info on boyfriends, girlfriends, wives, husbands and on-screen partners. Aloysius real name was Alan Spencer."

"Was?" Light asked

"Patience isn't one of your virtues, is it?" Red rolled her eyes: "Yeah, he is dead, suicide. The Irregulars pieced this up from police records. Alan Spencer had his first brush with justice when he was a seventh grader. He's registered as a witness in a missing person case involving four of his classmates. Alan had said on several occasions that he wished the guys would die in pain. Eventually the boys were found, at least parts of them. They'd died victims of a freakish accident in a dog's food factory. Anyway, there was enough to identify them. They were archived six feet under, using just one casket and with the inscription unsolved as epitaph. And that's how creative little Alan got away with murder. I think you'll find very interesting his second chance for a day in court. He faced charges for murdering a poor sod who broke into his apartment. Talk about your overkill! Alan fired a 10-rnd, reloaded and then fired a couple of shots before he realized the other guy was a goner. Mr. Spencer had trouble sleeping and liked to spend his nights taking sips from a Jack Daniel's bottle 'til he passed out sitting on his couch with the lights out. He also liked to keep his loaded SIG Sauer P220 Equinox close by while getting wasted. The first officer to respond to the neighbors' cries for help questioned him about his dangerous drinking habits. Mr. Spencer stated that the gun was like a baby blanket. It made him feel safer, though he knew it wouldn't help him one bit considering what was coming to get him. The officer said that the man sounded crazy, so Alan was taken in for further 'questioning'. When he sobered up he denied everything and insisted he'd fired the gun to defend his home. Let's say the DA was skeptical, firing a whole magazine on the alleged thief seemed excessive and, also, Alan's previous history with suspicious deaths came out. Nevertheless a good lawyer could have gotten him self-defense, but he didn't wait to find out how good his guy was. As soon as the lawyer bailed him out, Alan went home and blew his brains out."

"That's a dead end."

"Wrong! Wammy's 101 on tracking someone: men and women love to leave a record of their passing. Most do it by accumulating crap and leaving it behind. Everything you do or own eventually sees the light, especially when you die. Alan passed away without a testament and his book still made some profits. Plus he'd inherited a small fortune from someone called Ifain Evens."

"Let me guess. He'd been Alan's math teacher; Evens, Evans. Alan wasn't very good at coming up with names, was he?"

"Actually Evens was his science teacher. Anyway, all the vultures gathered, Bevy Rosebud included, and prepared for a long legal battle. Every knickknack was inventoried and put in a warehouse 'til the winner could come to claim the spoils. The winner was Bevy. The divorce wasn't legal. Neither of them had bothered to file the papers properly. Among the usual debris that everyone leaves behind, Mr. Spencer left an unusual renaissance medallion. That medallion has turned out to be Bevy's way to have a most welcomed retirement. It was recently auctioned and fetched a nice price. The buyer wanted to remain anonymous and those auctioneers know their job, there's no record of the name anywhere."

Light barked impatiently: "And how's that not a dead end?

"It's not a dead end 'cause we know the buyer. The medallion was bought by Beatrice Piccio, who happens to be the wife of Lucca Contarini."

"Our Luke?" asked Black smiling.

Red shrugged: "He didn't want to risk losing it in the mail. For the record, I think that amulet story is a load of superstitious crap."

Light thought: '_That's the last piece of the puzzle, now I can become a true God. It's time to get the plan in motion'_. He ordered: "Have one of your Irregulars pick it up right now. And we'll put it to the test. Remember: There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Come Black, we've got things to do."

As soon as they had left, Red opened her Solitaire game. She thought Shakespeare was overrated and philosophy was most certainly not her department. She contacted Pat and Ollie while she played. Those were her lieutenants and they were also Wammy's ex-alumni.

A petit figure appeared giggling on screen. Picture a pale beauty with full red-blood lips and tons of black eyeliner, long raven hair, tight black corset, hobble skirt, Edwardian boots; and that's Ollie. He was always picture perfect and Red wondered if he had a checklist that he went through before leaving home. Most people thought Ollie stood for Olivia but it was short for Oliver.

Those prudes at Wammy's had found his sense of fashion hard to swallow but they would've let it pass -Lord knows they let a lot of things pass when it came to their delicate geniuses- if it hadn't been for his relationship with Pat. Fifteen years old Patrice was almost six feet tall. She had a dark honeyed complexion, a shaved head and dichromatic eyes -one green and one brown. The only reason why she didn't get more indiscreet stares while walking on the street was that she was an athletically framed Punk who looked tough as nails.

Pat and Ollie liked to show their affection in an overt manner that some people found distasteful, but that was not unheard of in people their age. So, if only for a technicality, Wammy's House guardians shouldn't have found anything truly objectionable in the pairing. But, to quote Wammy's administration take on the happy couple: "They looked disturbingly ambiguous." They were asked to quit seeing each other and they refused. When rumors started circulating that one of them was going to be exiled to a newly opened house in Patagonia, they'd escaped the orphanage. Ollie loved to tell sugary anecdotes about their elopement. The reality was somewhat different. They'd roamed the streets of Venice in a romantic haze until they'd discovered love doesn't conquer all. They were homeless and penniless when Red had found them.

Pat had an arm around Ollie's small waist. As usual she wore a black sleeveless shirt and baggy jeans. Ollie couldn't stand dirty clothes so Pat probably bought them by the dozen, along with the razors. She'd shaved off her hair after several unsuccessful trials at making it comply with her sense of style. She'd been born in Botswana and had inherited a mass of untamable locks from her dad. Pat appeared even taller than she was because she was wearing the beaten down brothel creepers that she called her homage to the classics.

Before leaving Wammy's those two were on the high end of the list of successors. With good reason, they were like bloodhounds. So when Light had started recruiting the Irregulars those two were the first on Red's list.

Ollie usually let Pat do the talking, so the tall girl looked at Red and said: "Dumela, Mma! O a re eng?"

Red cleared her throat and essayed an answer: "Ke tsogile sentle, Mma. Le kae?"

"We're fine. You almost got the g right this time."

"Pat, unless I grow a second throat that's as good as it gets. I haven't got time to chat. I need you to go pick some stuff."

"I'll send one of the others. Ollie and me, we don't have time to chat either. I was 'bout to call you."

"No can do, it has to be you or Ollie, this is top priority."

"Hold your horses Mma. Remember I told you that since last week Ollie got the feeling that someone was followin' him?"

Red had known her from the time when they toddled; there was no point in trying to rush her so she just nodded.

"Ollie and I were getting anxious because this guy was good, too good for a pig trying to enforce truancy laws. Now we know why: he is CIA."

Alarms went off inside Red: "What's the CIA doing there?"

"I asked him the very same question. The guy said he'd strayed so far away from home because he was looking for us. You know me Mma, better safe than sorry. I had the guy against the ropes when he cried out mercy and said he was trying to get to us before someone else could harm us. I told him he'd just experienced firsthand that we were more than capable of taking care of ourselves and he said that he had orders and we'd better talk to his boss. Care to guess who is it that sent him to escort us to a safer location?"

"Are you messing with me?"

"Someone is messing with someone aright. And your pal Near's pulling the strings, Mma. Ollie and I are supposed to board a plane to a safe house tonight. If you want us to go, then give your orders now because we can't go in there wired. Too risky, they almost strip-search us to let us speak with that L impersonator…"

Ollie interrupted Pat and said something about ominous looking rubber gloves but Red wasn't listening, she shouted: "Black! Ghostie! You'd better get down here, now!"

_**7.2 Aftermath:**_

"_-Guns don't kill people. People kill people.  
-And you find that thought comforting?" Aktsini's response to a gun's advocate_

_Japan, Tokyo-Fussa city, March 20th 2019, Yokata Air Base, AMC Passenger Terminal:_

White was crouching in a corner of a bathroom stall, whispering into her cell phone. She'd just found out her news were old news. She would've liked being the first one to tell the gentleman caller, but every time she'd tried to call the line had been busy. The last time she'd felt horribly mortified when Halle asked her if she was okay. She probably thought White had digestive problems after she'd made her third trip to the restroom. Ophelia looked at the men who had come to escort them, blushed and muttered something about it being that time of the month. Halle smiled, raised her hand and said: "Say no more, B."

White was grateful that Gevanni had taken an earlier flight. Having that conversation in front of him was more than she could've handled at one o' clock in the morning. It didn't help that she'd been up all night packing her bags and getting debriefed. All thanks to her mistrusting husband, who had waited until the very last second to tell them he wanted them to accompany the heirs to a safe house. Near was going to stay back with the NPA and try to find more information on Kira.

_'Coffee, I need coffee',_ her tummy growled, '_and maybe a doughnut'_. She hadn't dinned and the military airplane she was boarding didn't serve meals. She was pondering if she felt desperate enough to take advantage of the interest that two beautiful blondes had elicited in the men of the Base. A little flirting and she'd probably find someone willing to go fetch her something while they waited for clearance. '_Make that a moka java and a roast beef sandwich. I'm not going to debase myself for a doughnut. So it's roast beef or nothing'._ Her stomach roared its approval of the plan. Nana would've been horrified if she could've heard what she was thinking.

"White, are you there?"

"Yes, I'm still here. So what you are telling me is that Kira doesn't want me to know how you're going to get the heirs; to protect my cover. But he wants me to smuggle a toy knife and then leave it lying where 'someone' will pick it up?"

Red sniggered: "Hey, don't shoot the messenger. I'm just telling you what Ghostie, I mean Kira, told me before he left to meet with Luke. He also said that if I called him Ghostie one more time he'd have my guts for garters. And it's not a toy knife, it is plastic; a laminate called MP45. It's a 2.5 ounces knife with a serrated blade. It's easy to conceal, strong enough to pound through steel and completely invisible to metal detectors."

"Since when did you become a knife's aficionado?"

"I'm not, but that's Mac's weapon of choice for traveling. They stopped making them in 2002, after the EPA closed the last MP45 factory. The fumes that were emitted during manufacture were considered to be carcinogenic. Yeah right, like they weren't thinking about how those knives are so easy to slip pass airport security. You'd better take good care of it, big sis. It's a loaner. Mac's father bought a pair when he was born. They're known as Stealth Hawks. But when Mac was little he named his Mr. Blond. The one he's giving you is his spare and afterwards I get to keep it. I'm naming it Mr. Pink. He's my fave of the Reservoir Dogs."

She could hear Red bouncing up and down like a little child on Christmas Eve. '_Nothing's as heartwarming as a boy, his knife and one of Tarantino's R rated blood fests. That Mac is a bad influence'._ White sighed: "Little sis, you're ranting. Breathe and tell me: how am I supposed to get the knife in the first place? Not even I know where we're going."

"Kira figured it out. Well, he gave me some pointers. The rest came courtesy of Galileo, and a drug dealer called Pablo Cabrera, who was in the most wanted list 'til last month when he got killed. You're going to his mansion in the Mojave Desert, near a town called Mesquite. The house is now part of the Department of Justice's Asset Forfeiture Program. It was recently rebuilt because of the damage a task force of US Marshals; DEA and FBI agents did when they shot it up. It now has an improved security system financed by a company we know is a proxy for Wammy's. The house is 20 minutes away from the Mesquite Airport. Though that place is barely worthy of the name airport. It has one runway and one helipad. But it's big enough to land an airliner. In the wee hours of the night it's relatively private and it's in the middle of the desert so no assault force can approach it unnoticed. Kira thinks that's where you are taking the successors."

White smiled, she hadn't expected less from the gentleman caller: "That sounds logical. The most vulnerable time for the heirs would be when they're traveling from the airport to the house. By the way, if the house was recently rebuilt you might be able to get the blueprints through the contractor."

"We have them. That contractor is a loose mouth. And our suspicions have also been confirmed by reports of our scouts. They noticed some black suits lurking about."

"Black suits? Something is wrong, this doesn't feel right. It's too easy and it's odd that they're making a big display. Near wouldn't make such an obvious move."

"We know your hubbie doesn't like to sully his precious hands so he delegates the heavy lifting on sad buffoons. Kira thinks that this has trap written all over. He thinks that Near wants to smoke out the mole. But we're making sure that backfires. And we'll try to turn the tables, 'cause in order to lure us out that phony L is going to have to use the real heirs as bait. Sis, Kira said that your top priority is not to blow your cover and if you are forced to do something you mustn't leave any witnesses. And they weren't actually wearing black suits, but the Irregulars are willing to bet they're undercover. These guys have a predatory look about them that belies their touristy clothes and they're too clean cut to be mobsters. But they pass mostly undetected 'cause during business hours that's quite the busy Airport. Mesquite has become an in spot, with casino resorts and golf courses with a more laid-back feel than Las Vegas. We'll use that. Be sure to have your note close to you, we'll monitor you through it. As soon as you land one of our gals posing as a honeymooner is leaving a gift for you in the third stall from left to right of the little girls' room."

"Oh please, not another bathroom."

"Yeah, bet that wasn't in the brochure: 'Come join the glamorous. As one of Kira's Mata Haris, you get to travel the world and know every john west of Berlin.' Behind the toilet you'll find a sunglasses case and a brown paper bag. You'll still have to negotiate the safe house security system. The case is made out of MP45 and the knife fits seamlessly in it, fake shades of the same material go over it. The metal detector won't beep and even with their state of the art backscatter X-ray scanner the probability of them finding it is less than 1 percent. The backscatter picks up images produced when materials scatter X-ray photons. And scatter patterns change depending on the element they are interacting with, that's why guns hidden inside of socks seem to pop out. You may wonder how they distinguish explosives. They do it first by figuring out the patterns of unacceptable materials and second by further testing with chemical agents. The case is made of the same material as the knife so there are no differences in density and the outline of the knife won't show. MP45 is not longer manufactured and is virtually impossible to find, so the newer machines don't have the pattern in their no-no lists. All they'll see are a pair of Jackie-O's. Still you'd be in trouble if they were to look at them closely 'cause they might notice the glasses are fake. But I doubt that'll happen. Thanks to the secret weapon you'll find inside the bag: an underwire bra. You'll also find some rubber gloves save them for later and put on the bra. Black tells me I should warn you that the bra is going to set off the magnetic arch. You'll have to endure their security wands hovering over your boobs and they are going to search you and maybe ask you to strip down."

White was still dizzy from the physics class so she thought she'd misheard the last part: "Excuse me?"

Black's voice came through: "Surely you haven't gone deaf since we last met. I'm not even going to try to repeat what Red just said. Save for the last bit: Put on the bra. I know that you'd probably be able to figure this out on your own if it weren't for the fact that the thought of going through a pat-down scrambles your puritan brain. We need to get a transmitter inside the safe house because we need some info from our operatives. Their metal detector is calibrated to find out even the smallest traces of anything metallic so no matter where we put it it's bound to set off the alarms. The underwire bra was our best chance for smuggling it in because you are a big girl and it's obvious you need the extra support."

White gulped: "For your information, Black, they make airport friendly undergarments in every size. And how am I supposed to explain why I didn't beep on the way there?"

Red said: "You don't. That could be 'cause the detector was calibrated differently. Underwire bras have little metal in them. For flexibility they use metal covered plastic. And statistically 8 out of 10 bras sold have reinforcement. Most airlines won't want to deal with the fuss."

"How do we know they aren't going to inspect the bra? You said my priority was not to blow my cover."

Black snorted: "Listen to me, darling. Chances are they'll be thrown off balance by an awkward situation. In the off case they inspect it they won't find anything odd. Even if they were smart enough to open it with a penknife. You're on their side and you're the boss' wife. Look outraged and humiliated. Don't make it easy for them. This'll also serve to divert attention from the knife you'll be carrying. And it'll tell our operatives who you are. Kira needs you to do this, White."

"I…I'll do it and looking outraged and humiliated won't be a problem."

"Good. Red will tell you the rest and then we won't communicate until it's over. For now we'll work as independent units. You are not to interfere with our operatives. If you can aid them without being found out, do it. If you're forced to engage then remember: leave no witnesses."

_U.S. Nevada, the Mojave desert, March 19th 2019, midnight, in a safe house near the town of Mesquite:_

All had gone according to plan. Better than expected thanks to the sleaze ball who really seemed to enjoy patting White's breasts. Gevanni threatened to pound the guy to a pulp. And Ophelia managed to shed some tears on Halle's shoulder apologizing for being emotional. Afterwards they were all very understanding and that made things easier.

First she went to visit yet another restroom were she pulled the transmitter from the bra and left it. She quickly identified the operatives. A tall black girl with mismatched eyes was waiting for her at the stall's door. The girl went in and White heard her murmuring. Then it was time for the kids to go to sleep; but there was a small commotion when the black girl shoved her tongue down a petite Goth's throat shouting she couldn't sleep without her lover's goodnight kiss. White could have sworn the Goth was a girl but he followed the line that was going upstairs to the boys' bedrooms. She thought: '_And there goes the transmitter'_. She told Halle she was going for a walk to try to calm down. She dropped the case with the knife in some bushes near a toolshed. She went back, entered the kitchen, took out a bottle of water from the fridge and casually dropped the rubber gloves in a space between the stove and the wall. Then she went to her room and waited for hell to break loose.

When midnight stroke Merle Vogt and Papantzi Ollentetl, known as Merry and Petra, woke up. In the boys bedrooms Najib Farid and Odhran Hayes known as Narrow and Obi woke up too.

The girls told the teacher they couldn't sleep because of the jet lag and that they were going to fix some hot cocoa. The guard outside saw them go holding hands. The cameras in the hallway followed them. A tall black girl approached him soon after and told him she felt nature's calling. Then she left in the opposite direction the other girls had taken.

The girls walked slowly down the hallway, the lights went off. They waited for them to come back and hurried towards the kitchen. In there Merry picked up the rubber gloves gave a pair to Petra and threw the rest through the window. Then she went looking for icing sugar and aluminum foil. Petra found some candles and melted them in a pot on the stove.

Narrow started coughing loudly and when the teacher approached his bed he said it was nothing and that he just needed some water. Obi offered to go with him to make sure he was alright. Three minutes later Ollie said he needed to go take a pee. After the blackout Obi and Narrow met outside the house, they carefully avoided the guards. Narrow stood under the kitchen's window and picked up the rubber gloves. He put on a pair and handed the other to Obi. Then he went to stand ward. Obi located the knife, used it to force open the toolshed's lock and put it away. They went straight to the fertilizers and picked a bag of potassium nitrate. They also took a machete and then went to meet the girls.

The four kids entered the girl's bathroom. Merry and Narrow had barely exchanged three words between them in four years of knowing each other. And Petra and Obi had never met before. But if someone had found them they would've pretended to be having a romantic rendezvous. Nobody came and they quickly formed and assembly line measuring and mixing what they'd brought and making packages with the aluminum foil. When they finished they left them hanging above water in a toilet tank along with some matches, the knife and machete. Then they went back to bed.

While the bombs were being prepared, Ollie and Pat were doing their part. Each one entered in the appropriate bathroom. Then they went into the first stall, stood on the toilet and sneaked into the vents. Ollie went directly to kill the lights. And Pat took care of the cameras.

The house was isolated and had its own generator, but silica was hard on its mechanism and blackouts weren't uncommon, so there was also a back up that started seven minutes after the first one stopped functioning. The infrared cameras worked permanently but those seven minutes gave Pat the opportunity to fix that. If you'd asked the fools who'd designed the security systems the question: Who watches the watcher? Their answer would have been: no one. There weren't cameras taping the monitors' room. Three minutes was all that it took to kill the guards with the insulin pen Pat had stolen from a girl who was a diabetic. That was pure luck, as she hadn't known the girl was going to be there. She ridged a couple of cartridges with fatal overdoses. She even had time to erase what they've already taped and set the cameras in a loop that'd show the same scene until the end of the shift. That left them with a couple of hours to act. Pat went back to bed and waited. Ollie did the same though he took a detour to the supplies cabinet. He opened it with a set of lock picks that were used for practice and that he'd stolen from one of the teachers. He took out some piano wire.

As Ollie entered the room a little Aussie known as Q stood up and said he needed to go potty. Like the James Bond character he was a mechanical genius. His real name was Quentin Howe. Ollie was offering to go with him when another little boy said he needed to go too. Ollie stood trying to figure out what to do. The nameless little guy wasn't a part of the plan. Then he shrugged it off, he didn't had time to lose so he'd have to improvise.

Pat raised an eyebrow as he saw Ollie escorting two kids instead of one. She had her own charge, a small girl called Qamra Shadi known as Quintar. They hadn't really meant to go to the bathroom but Ollie had to take the little nameless boy to it. Pat appraised the two kids. Then she cursed, she had no choice but to let Q go alone. Pat showed the kids a copy of the blueprints. Q and Quintar placed and ignited the bombs in the spots were they'd made more damage. Then they walked to the Music Room where the children dropped dead.

Ollie said to the nameless boy: "You smell that? It's smoke. Stay here, don't move. I'll be back." He wasn't lying, after he finished off the rest, he was coming to get him. As soon as he was out the door he spoke to the transmitter he'd hidden in his mouth: "Now."

Matthew and his men had approached the house using fumigation airplanes they'd robbed from nearby Bunkerville. The aircrafts were little more than propelled gliders that allowed them to fly close to ground so they could avoid the radar. Yet they could fly high enough to fool the motion detectors. Despite the fact that they were only meant to be a distraction they landed with blazing guns.

Inside the house fire alarms started bellowing and the smoke detectors activated the sprinklers. Figures in black fatigues, bullet proof jackets and helmets ran under a confusion of water and smoke. Orders were barked franticly from every quadrant of the house, filling the radio waves with a cacophony that was barely understandable. White had put on her gear and was leaving her room when she almost got killed by Pat who was herding Quintar and only stopped when she heard her say: "Weren't you going to use Red's knife?"

"Ah, beeping bra. Take this Mma, give it to Red. I don't need it. I'll use this." Pat handed White the knife and signaled the machete. Then she ran to meet with Ollie.

White put away the knife and was turning around the corner when she heard Halle yelling: "Hey you! Stop! The emergency exit is the other way."

After a brief hesitation Ophelia let Branca's calm wash over her and followed Halle's voice.

Ollie had made his way to Q and had used the piano wire to finish off stragglers. When he reached the Music room Pat was already there. He kissed her and said: "All we can do now is wait."

In the girl's bedroom they had started the evacuation, then two guards told them to stay put, they were under attack. The teacher had gone with the first group. They waited in anguish, soaked to the bone and hearing sirens and gun fire through a closed door. Merle stood up: "This is mad. I'm not going to stay here and wait to be killed."

Petra asked: "And what are we supposed to do?"

Merry snorted: "I don't know about you, but I'm going to try to get out."

Petra frowned: "How?"

"When I left my guitar I noticed there's an entry to the sewers in the Music Room."

"And how are you going to get there?"

With a sideways smile Merry said: "Through the ventilation ducts."

Some of the girls thought that was a good idea. In the boy's room a similar scene had unfolded with Narrow and Obi playing the lead roles. A few minutes later a line of kids crawled into the bowels of the safe house being led like cattle to the slaughter house.

Halle was pointing her gun towards Ollie and Pat. Lidner entered the room and saw them hiding small corpses inside the piano. She drew out her weapon, radioed for support and was about to tell them to put their hands up when White ran her thru with Red's knife.

Then the children started pouring into the room. The three Kira's agents waited for all of them to be in; gathering strength to begin their grim task. Then luck ran out, Matthew with two of his men walked in. Matthew barked: "Freeze." Then he shot White down.

She fell to the floor; hurt but not dead, the bulletproof jacket had protected her. Matthew placed his weapon on her stomach. At close range, even with the jacket he could kill her. The other two fired against the children. Ollie and Pat blended with the screaming heirs, shielding themselves with their bodies. Thanks to Kira's orders they didn't know each other, though Matthew could've recognized White if she hadn't been wearing a helmet.

A voice came out of Lidner's radio; when no one responded it told them a team was on their way. White was trying to figure out a way out that didn't involve shouting she was on the guys' side in front of heirs who might survive, when Ollie lighted up a bomb he'd saved. Shielded by the smokescreen they acted swiftly. White cried out: "No witnesses." Each brought down one of the men. Then they picked up the men's guns and finished what they'd started. Right before the team arrived White went into the sewers and Ollie and Pat went through the vents.

When the search team arrived all they found was the room burning to ashes. The sprinklers had been turned off after a few minutes of the attack when they assessed there wasn't a fire. White had joined Gevanni outside the house. There wasn't much left to do. The invaders who hadn't fled were dead. Pat and Ollie had crawled their way back. In the ducts Ollie whispered to Red they'd killed about 50 percent of the children and that Lidner was dead too. Then Ollie disposed of the transmitter as they arrived in the bathroom while Pat comforted the crying little boy who had been hiding there, playing destiny's gift of an alibi. Afterwards they waited huddling in a corner until a guard found them.

_Czech Republic, Prague's-Staré Mesto (old town) March 20th 2019, an antiques' shop in Karlova Street:_

Red turned around on her chair: "We got about half of them. We had some loses but we also got Near's bitch. As far as I can tell the gals are still on the clear. Dunno if we won. Let's call it a tie."

Black's mind was stuck in the moment when Matthew's radio had stopped working. It might have been her imagination but she was sure she'd heard the gargling noise that signaled her brother's passing above White's cry.

When Red said they could call it a tie, Black rose from the canapé where she was nursing her aching legs. The pain from the scribbling was no longer important. She walked towards the desk, opened a drawer as if she were looking for something, pulled out a pistol put it on Red's forehead and said: "Move and you're dead."

Then she picked up a card opener and with her left hand started writing over her right shoulder. She kept her eyes looking straight ahead and she didn't registered Red's voice as she said: "Crap! I'm so glad you're back."

Black was so caught up that she didn't saw the paperweight that Light brought to her head. Kira checked Black's pulse, looked at Red and said: "What are you waiting for? Tie her up."

It took Red some time to be able to obey him. Her eyes were trained on Black's shoulder following the bloody outline of an O and what could've been the beginning of a p or an r.

_**Next on Kira's Kingdom, Scroll 8- Playing with loaded dices: Ryuk and Pasht make their entrance. The girls face the consequences of the safe house affair. And a mysterious man with his own agenda appears.**_


	8. Playing with Loaded Dices

_**AN: Thanks for reviews. Morlana**__**, I've always found action scenes difficult to write and I'm glad you think the effort was worth it. Nix and Zeke-Z think Black's reaction was overblown. For the sake of ANs brevity I'll explain it at the end of the chapter. Zeke-Z, your question about the other DN users is very good. But answering it now involves unveiling a plot twist of what I'm peddling as a mystery story. Have patience. Now for the real AN: First, I created the: T**__actical __**A**__ssault __**M**__odular __**S**__uit__**. TAMS for short, which is based in the Interceptor (the US Army issued tactical gear) and some notions of the future of protective gear (don't laugh at my acronym, the Marines wear something called MTV, M**__odular__** T**__actical__** V**__est__**). Second, Black's dream sequence is a Celtic cross reading with 10 major trumps of the Tarot of Marseilles. It has clues of what's happened and what's about to happen. Third, the Method of Loci, often attributed to Simonides of Ceos and popularized in several fictional works, is real. It's a mnemonic in which objects to be remembered are imagined in known locations. If you're curious, at the end of the chapter there's a small explanation. Fourth, the watch trick for finding true north described here only works in the northern hemisphere. Finally, the Shinigami binding spell is loosely based on the wiccan ritual of the calling of the corners. Btw, I'm a skeptic and what little 'knowledge' I have of this comes from my interest in semiotics (the study of symbols). A friend helped me with the Latin but I take responsibility for all errors. All that has changed in this Second draft are references to Black's age, see Scroll 10.**_

**Kira's Kingdom**

**Scroll 8: Playing with loaded dices (Second draft)**

_**8.1 That Which Does Not Kill Us Makes Us Stranger:**_

"_All the things that one has forgotten scream for help in dreams." Elias Canetti  
_"_What hast thou done? The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground. And now art thou cursed…a fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth." Genesis 4:10-12 _

_Czech Republic, Prague's-Staré Mesto (old town) March 20th 2019, an antiques' shop in Karlova Street:_

Black was walking down a dusty road that followed the outline of a seaside cliff. She carried all her earthly possessions in a backpack. She knew she was running away though she didn't know from what. Then a blond dog came out of nowhere and started barking: "Fool! Fool!"

_'Wait a minute, dogs can't speak'_, she was trying to figure that one out when the mutt bit her ankle. She fell off the edge. She closed her eyes waiting for that final splatter that, surprisingly, didn't come. She wasn't dead. She only had bruises. She stood up, dusted off the sand and walked towards a cottage she could see on the other side of the dune where she'd landed.

The house was empty save for an orange-red tabby cat that was licking itself clean by the fireplace underneath a sign that said: The Magician's Abode. There was a huge oak table in the middle of the room, loaded with odd contraptions. Between a bubbling alembic and a well used mortar with its pestle there was a basin. It was filled to the top and had the word quicksilver engraved on it.

Black approached the table and leaned over the bowl. It reflected her image like a fun house mirror. Distorted and wicked, that's how she looked. That angered her. She brought her fist down on the table, spilling the contents of the basin. Mercury ran forming deceitfully solid looking spheres that went liquid when she tried to touch them.

The cat hissed and when it spoke its voice sounded female: "Quit making a mess. You won't find him that way."

It dawned on her; she wasn't running away, she was trying to find him: "Do you know where he is?"

The cat stretched yawning: "As of right now, I'd have to say nowhere. But eventually we'll catch him…"

Before the tabby could say anything else the dog reappeared. The mutt meant murder and the cat had to make a run for it.

"Wait cat! At least tell me who is he." She picked up a knife and followed the quarreling beasts.

Black reached a pond but the cat was gone. On the shore the blond dog was fighting a wolf. They savagely bit each other under the indifferent gaze of a cloaked woman. The lady had a bright blue skin and was floating on the pond, sitting cross-legged on a half moon shaped cushion set inside a giant water lily.

She looked at the lady. The scent of the lilies triggered a memory. Being seven, exploring the parish's attic and discovering some boxes with her mother's things. She'd thought there was something very sad in the fact that it only took four boxes to hold someone's life. She was about to cry when her dad found her. He'd sat her on his lap while they took out things and reminisced. One of the last items was a Taylor of London lily of the valley room mist. Her dad said he hadn't had the courage to give it away; her mom had bought it because he liked the smell. He said he was a coward. She'd tried to comfort him and told him that wasn't true and, anyway, she'd enough courage for the both of them. He gave her the spray. She'd been so captivated by the scent that she began using it on herself. Mrs. Bingham, who came to clean twice a week, had said she was too young for that and that her dad was crazy for letting her use an air freshener as perfume.

She asked: "Mum?"

The lady rose and Black found out why she was blue. It was her drowned mother's corpse. The half moon cushion shrunk, its horns sharpened and it turned into a scythe. The blue cadaver took the scythe in one hand, looked up, pointed a half gnawed finger at her and asked: "Where's your brother?"

"Was it my turn to mind the baby? I forgot. Please don't get angry."

Black fought a sense of unreality. Her mother had died in a car accident and her brother wasn't a baby. She tripped over something, looked down and saw it was a human limb. All over the ground there were severed hands, legs and behind a rock she could see what looked like a head.

The blue lady Reaper had shed its human mask and now a sapphire skull showed underneath her cloak: "Come here, child. Don't be afraid. We'll put him back together."

The thing was a monster. She ran back to the cliff. The blue lady corpse followed her.

"Don't! You'd get killed!" the Reaper shouted.

Black glanced at it over her shoulder and decided she'd risk another fall rather than let that thing touch her. She jumped and was yanked back by a rope that snatched her ankle. She was hanging upside down being dragged back to the edge of the cliff. She knew who was pulling her up. So she lifted her weight, grabbed the rope and used the knife she had taken from the magician's table to cut it.

Thunder roared in the sky and a hail of fire began falling. The cliff's rock turned into bricks. It wasn't a cliff at all. It was a tower, a crumbling ruin with moss growing between its plastered blocks. Black couldn't see where it began or where it ended. She feared that she'd fallen down a bottomless pit. She grabbed at a window sill, placing her feet against the wall to break her fall and climbed inside.

She entered a room where a wheel was working. The foot treadle moved on its own, spinning what looked like an infinite yarn. Its movement had a hypnotic quality that made her stay to watch. The spinning wheel was one of those called castle style, the spindle and flyer were placed above the wheel. It even had a distaff for the unspun wool that looked like a buck's antlers covered in cobwebs.

Black felt curios and reached for the distaff but she pricked her finger with the spindle, drawing blood. Cursing she sucked the hurt finger and began to feel dizzy. She sat on the stone floor and through blurry eyes she saw the wheel transforming into a carousel.

'_Bleeding hell! Was there drug on the distaff?'_ she thought.

It looked like the Mickey Marley's roundabout, her dad's favorite. A few weeks after their father died, Matthew had taken her to see it in the Ulster Folk and Transport Museum. That was a luxury they couldn't afford. Their father hadn't been ambitious. The parish provided for what his frugal life required. So after a lukewarm fight against a ticking bomb in his head the doctors had called aneurysm, all he'd left behind were debts. Then Matthew had insisted they should use what little money they had to go make a posthumous homage to the old man. She'd told him the carousel looked awfully small and that for posthumous homage they could barely pay for a tombstone. Matthew muttered 15 was too young to be such a sourpuss. She'd said that mushiness wasn't worth going hungry and that 20 was too old for being such an immature jerk. Then he'd swept her off her feet and started spinning while he sang at the top of his lungs in a fake Irish accent:

"Round and round and up and down,  
Through the streets of Belfast town,  
All the children laugh and shout,  
Here comes Mickey's Roundabout"

She'd cried out he'd gone barmy and menaced to throw up all over him if he didn't let her go. He'd held her tighter and after a while she'd laughed and laughed for the first time since the funeral. For once she felt as if everything was going to be alright, as if she could survive losing her dad. The ghost hadn't found it amusing, she'd ignored him.

_'And ignoring him has never been easy. When he wants to he's King Brat'_.

It was as if she'd conjured him up. The world shimmered and when it stopped, she was standing in an imposing hall with tapestries hanging from the walls. The ghost was sitting in a golden throne carved with the inscription: Son of morning, chief among the mighty.

She'd never seen him look livelier. He was wearing a crown and he greedily clutched an orb in his hands. It looked vaguely like an earth globe. But it was wrong. It had a robin's egg color. Its enameled surface was dotted with unknown continents and isles. Something was inside of it, trying to get out. The first thing to break the eggshell was a beak; then exited the head of an eaglet.

The bird looked wet and confused as all younglings when entering the world. But it made a speedy recovery. As soon as it was out it became an adult. It had dark brown feathers with a golden crown and nape. The eagle extended its wings, showing a wingspan of at least seven feet. It flew out the window and soared in a sky that'd turned ruby red.

Black noticed another person in the room, a tall blonde woman that was holding a scale and a sword. She wore a sheer blindfold and though her face showed no emotion her eyes were smiling underneath the gauze.

The woman took out a silvery whistle and blew it. The eagle returned and perched on her fist. The blonde wielded the sword and started walking towards her. Black took a couple of backwards steps and turned to the ghost for help. The ghost was transfixed, looking desolately at the broken orb.

When the blonde had her cornered against the wall she remembered she had a knife. As she thought about it the blade seemed to grow out form her palm. It was covered in blood; somehow she doubted it was hers. She turned around to face the woman when a fanfare sounded above their heads.

The ceiling fell down. The three of them had to dodge the debris. When that was over they could see who had blown the trumpet. A winged figure floating on a cloud with its face covered in shadows. Black thought: '_An angel?'_.

It was nothing like the angels she'd seen in paintings. It was a wild-haired pale brunet and had dark circles under his eyes. There was something awkward in the way he was hovering over them. He looked familiar, but maybe he just had one of those faces. He spoke: "The time has come. The dead shall raise, judgment will be pass. And those who'd be saved will be set apart from the sinners. At the end of the day where will you stand?"

Black tried to clean the blood off her hands to no avail. Then she cowered covering her head with her arms.

"What are you afraid of, little black clod?" asked the angel.

She couldn't answer, she was paralyzed. The floorboards started cracking. A sulfurous smell came from underneath them. She knew who was trying to come through. She had replayed the image endlessly in the infinite time that'd taken for her to rise from the divan and put the gun on Red's forehead. Matthew, broken and dead, he'd start bleeding from his wounds as soon as he came close to her, pointing an accusing finger in her direction. She shut her eyes close.

She felt someone standing in front of her. She gritted her teeth; she wanted to scream but knew if she started she'd never stop. Matthew placed his hands on her shoulders. Then he whispered her name: "Eve".

For a moment she wished he'd kill her. But he made her lean her head against his chest. No heart was beating inside it. She thought she'd go crazy. She didn't want to look at him, but she knew she had to. Anything was better than standing there in the dark feeling his cold skin against hers.

She slowly opened her eyes. Phosphenes floated in front of her, like sparks from an open fire. Matthew was there, but he wasn't a vision come back from the grave. He was just as he'd been the night of the fireflies.

Their father wasn't cold in his grave when they were asked to leave the parish. The new priest and his family were moving in. Then there was some trouble with Matthew's pension. Apparently the boys in Glasgow had already decided that a 75 percent lost of hearing due to a hand grenade justified a medical discharge. But they said that Matthew had spent three months of the 2 years of active service needed for awarding a pension in the hospital. The fact that he'd voluntarily enlisted at sixteen didn't seem to matter. No one under eighteen went to the front so those years counted as training. Her brother had said that he'd write to the Colonel. Black couldn't believe that he knew a high rank officer willing to help them. It turned out he didn't.

The Colonel had been a drill sergeant who was known with that nickname among his recruits. When Matthew first met him he'd been a grumpy old man who hid a deep concern for his Tommy's behind a cantankerous exterior. Afterwards he became the closest thing to a grandpa Black and her brother ever knew.

After making a living by outfitting young boys into soldiers and preparing them as much as was humanly possible for what they'd have to face, the Colonel had retired to Idanha-a-Velha in Portugal. He was fulfilling his life-long dream. He managed a small aviation company and earned his bread delivering packages and fumigating. Living in the shadow of an old Templar Knights' castle the only campaigns he fought were against the olive trees' fly plague.

Anyone else would've given them some money and sent them on their way. The Colonel had given them a home. He'd called in some favors to speed up the pension process. The aid came eventually, as usual it was too little too late but it didn't mattered. Matthew had found a purpose in life. Inside a cockpit his diminished hearing wasn't a problem. Inside an airplane he felt free. Outside of it people assumed he was having a hard time learning Portuguese and spoke slowly enough to allow him to learn to read lips. The Colonel also used his magic wand for Black. He got her a chance for a scholarship that carried her through high school and college. In the summers she came back and tried to help as much as she could.

When she turned seventeen she got a job herding tourist who found amusement handpicking olives. Those perky morons obviously had no idea of what a torture that work was before mechanical harvesting became a standard. After a week Black did. She had to show them how to do it and by the end of the day she had a basketful that'd make any tallyman proud. Plus she had to put up with the ghost who couldn't understand why she chose to waste precious time in menial labors. And Matthew had been a pain in the arse the whole summer. Something was souring his character and he wasn't telling.

She found out what it was one night while she was lying on the floor. It was too hot and she was too exhausted to go to bed. The Colonel and Matthew knocked back Lagers in the porch. After the fourth or fifth beer her brother forgot she was there.

Matthew had asked the Colonel if he remembered Chris Ganderton. The Colonel had nodded and said he did. Chris had been a stocky clumsy boy who was called Goose. He eventually grew out of his baby fat but the name stuck. Just as the breaks in his bike had the day he died. According to a photo of the tombstone a friend had sent Matthew, Goose was missed by his wife and kids. Her brother found it ironic that after all they'd gone through Chris had died such an ordinary death.

That had been the beginning. Those two had started a walk down memory lane, exchanging names as children swapping stamps. Matthew needed to purge himself of his lemures and the Colonel, wise old devil he was, let him. Black had lain there, afraid of breaking the spell if she moved or breathed too loudly.

She'd never seen her brother that way. Under the light of a yellowish moon he looked centuries old. She liked to tease him calling him veteran, after that night she never did that again. There were creases in his forehead and certain bitterness in the corner of his mouth that she'd never noticed before. He started talking about how when he was younger he'd liked to draw maps and follow battles putting colored pins on them and how that had nothing to do with the real deal. Unless you were one of the lucky bastards who gets to look at things from the high hill a battle is a messy affair. Most men don't see pass the guy that's in front of them and kill or die sums up all the strategy needed. Maybe it'd been the anguished look on Black's face that had prompted the Colonel to say: "Look there, fireflies. Aren't they beautiful, shorty?"

The Colonel was the only person allowed to call her that. She had murmured a yes and Matthew had messed up her hair saying: "In nights like this, it's good to be alive."

Then they'd grown quiet looking at the bugs lighting up the dark. After a while she'd got up and went to bed. When she woke up at dawn they were still in the porch, doing the row call, in a vigil for those who weren't there to look at the fireflies. By the next summer the Colonel had joined the list; Matthew had become a mercenary and Black, the chief of Kira's Heralds.

She woke up. She was bound to her bed and Light was applying a poultice on her legs. He was always careful with her wounds. '_Bet he doesn't want them to become scars. That'd ruin his precious weapon.'_ She breathed in deeply, willing herself to push away the pain that was driving her mad for at least another five minutes: "You didn't have to tie me down. Or hit me on the head. I could become a vegetable."

"Considering the scope of your decision making abilities, we might not even notice the difference. According to Red you went 'wacko' on her."

"I would notice the difference and I was grieving my brother's death."

"Buying flowers or reading sad poems while crying is grieving. You tried to kill one of our most valuable collaborators. And your brother shouldn't have gone in. He went against orders and endangered the whole operation."

"He paid for it. Now, will you untie me? Unless you want to change my diapers, I need to use the loo."

"The only way of learning from our mistakes is to recognize them as such. Can I trust you not to do anything stupid?"

"Given what you think of my decision making abilities and the fact you're unable to trust anyone, is there any point in asking that question? And the lesson is over. I'm not discussing this now or never. So, what's it going to be? Are you untying me or do you want another mess to clean up?"

He untied her saying that trust had to be earned and that those who turn to pseudo-witticisms have already lost the argument. She bit down a snappy retort about where he could shove his argument since he was such an arsehole. But she wasn't one to cast stones. After all, she'd become one of the lucky bastards her brother despised; a Rupert who looks at battles from the high hill. The pain swelled up inside her like a boil about to burst. She slammed the door shut. Kneeling on the floor she dug her nails on her palms and cried angry tears. She made a silent vow that Matthew's death wouldn't be in vain. Failing had never been an option but now it'd become an anathema. As for Near, a heart attack was too good for that prick. She was going to come up with something better.

Someone knocked on the door: "Cor blimey! Can't a person have some privacy here? I was just…"

Red's voice came through: "Yuck! No need to get into the specifics, though I'd hurry up if I were you. The Shinigami has landed; actually, we got two for the price of one. We have them, chief."

Black rinsed her puffy eyes with cold water and came out: "Where's the medallion?"

"On the desk where Kira left it before he…uh… soothed you."

Black ran downstairs with Red and Light following her. She grabbed the medallion threw it to the floor and smashed it with the heel of her shoe. Red was looking at her wide-eyed and began walking away without turning her back towards her.

"The medallion was worthless," she explained.

"Knowing what we paid to the auction house some would disagree, but if you're talking about its supposed powers, you're probably right. Why don't you sit down?"

"For crying out loud, give me some credit! I'm not crazy. We didn't want the jewel. We wanted what's inside of it." She said looking among the pieces and showing Red a piece of old parchment. She then put it besides a dog-eared scroll she'd picked from her worktable. They matched like a jigsaw puzzle.

Red narrowed her eyes: "Is that how a magical scroll looks like?"

"Ah, we have a skeptic in our midst. You're right though, save for what's written on it that's no more magical than what you use to wipe your behind. As they say, knowledge is power. One would think that you being a child of the information era you'd know that, dear." Black examined it while smiling wickedly.

"I'm only six years younger than you. Tell you what Madame Hallaba, stop treating me like an idiot and I won't mention your mental illness to anyone. So what's important is what's written on it. That's convenient."

Light took a look at the scroll, smiled and said: "Very convenient indeed, since each of the Shinigami is moving towards one of our Death Notes. I'll go pay a visit to White while you deal with the one who's foolish enough to walk right into the wolf's lair."

Black, who knew the Method of Loci, handed him the parchment: "I don't need this, you take it. I've already memorized almost the whole text by relating it to the Orloj's carvings and dials. The parts that were missing and the drawing are quite simple."

He handed her back the scroll saying with a dismissive gesture: "This is hard to conceal, I can't risk being seen and I don't need it either. I've already memorized it too."

Black looked inquiringly at him until she remembered the bastard was gifted with an eidetic memory that'd allowed him to kill with the Death Note without having to look at the victim's picture.

Red quietly watched the match of what the Wammy's had called 'who-can-pee-higher-contest'. She knew it was best to stay clear of those or you risked being drowned by the crossfire. She tried hard not to laugh, thinking that if it had been her, she'd photocopied the effing scroll.

_**8.2 Confrontation Clause:**_

"_I call forth the wrath of tornadoes  
to bind the air's ghostly form  
in the circling winds of protection._

_I call forth the ball of abysmal flame  
to bind the tales of the ashes  
in the circle of encompassing flames._

_I call forth the subtle taste of poison and purity  
to bind the lungs with liquid death  
in the tower of whirling water._

_I call forth the growth of the creeping things  
to bind the hunter's sense  
in the weaver's trap of webs._

_I call forth the words of the unbroken silence  
to bind the frosty breath of the spoken lie  
in the weight of a thousand hells."_

_English version of the Latin text found later in the chapter, from random phrases of a fleece Grimoire and Mercurial Weather's sick imagination _

_U.S. Nevada, the Mojave desert, March 20th 2019, in a safe house near the town of Mesquite:_

If White'd been asked to sum up how she felt in one word, she'd say she was exhausted. That'd have been an understatement. She was shell-shocked and she looked it. The only reason why she didn't stand out was all the rest of the survivors of Kira's attack were in similar conditions.

She'd had an infernal night and her day wasn't looking any better. She hadn't been able to let her guard down. She'd worked in the rescue tasks. She'd walked the grid looking for clues. She'd destroyed as much evidence as she could without getting caught. And as usual she'd served as a buffer between her tactless husband and the enraged FBI's who insisted that was their crime scene. Not to mention that the CIA, who'd lost one of their own, insisted on taking over. And she did all that carrying fifteen pounds of soaked protective gear and having a gigantic bruise on her back.

She'd also aided in calming the heirs and their guardians. As if they hadn't suffered enough, Near had asked they were taken to a series of cells he'd set up in the basement. That idea hadn't been well received. Her head was about to burst as they carried on a three way conference over the phone.

Finally Near had laid it down in an exasperated tone: "Those kids aren't just successors. They're also the prime suspects of being the Wammy's mole, or moles since this was done by more than one individual. As a matter of fact they are part of two groups in which I've divided the heirs. The ones whose loyalty has never been in question are hidden. The other group was going to be used as a decoy. The mole is there. No one can leave and that includes the guards."

A barrage of protest arose and then Near continued: "I'll explain it as soon as I arrive. In the meantime, B, make sure all the guards assemble in the hall with all their belongings. Right now everyone there is either a suspect or a witness. Also, Kira was manipulating some people there before they died. There might still be some of those so I want everyone to be on the look-out. Watch each other. Stay in pairs. Of course this includes you, B, you go with Gevanni. I want everyone to make a log accounting for where they were at and set apart anyone that's done anything suspicious. I'll interrogate everyone personally."

And so, instead of sleeping in the few hours she'd left. All she could do was make sure her alibi was airtight, trying to avoid looking suspicious to Gevanni.

She mentally traced back her steps, starting with the pretext she had given to Halle for spending time in the bathroom, which might be brought up by one of the escorts they had in the airport. If she'd had at least 48 hours she could've stopped taking the pill. She used it to regulate her cycles but an abrupt interruption would've induced bleeding. She didn't have 48 hours so she had to take some blood from her arm and put it in some cotton pads, hoping they wouldn't do histological tests on it.

That left three loose ends. One was the knife, for that she had no choice but to trust Red had heard and understood the message she'd sent with one of Matthew's men radio: 'The knife's lost and Lidner's dead." During the 'search' for clues she'd placed the case with the fake glasses in Halle's luggage. If Red did her part, the guilt of bringing it in would fall on the CIA's agent head. The other one was the bleeping bra; if they searched her things carefully they might notice part of the wire was missing. She planned to use the diversion strategy once more. And of course her bigger problem was the Death Note. Being under surveillance, that one required desperate measures. But she needed to wait for her husband to arrive.

When Near came he went through the big detective act. Explaining how the deed was done. Even White was surprised. He pieced it up beautifully. He even figured out a part White hadn't been able to. The ventilation ducts were supposed to have infrared cameras that worked with an independent electrical system, but the perps had taken advantage of the contractor. A path to the surveillance room and a path to the fuses were left untraced. The guards on duty hadn't noticed anything odd in the monitors because they usually looked black unless something was there. Of course the contractor and part of his crew were dead; as was the diabetic girl whose insulin had been used to kill the guards and the teacher whose lock-picks had been used to open a cabinet inside the house. He even figured out which kids had been manipulated by Kira. A suspicion he'd been lucky enough to confirm thanks to the remains of two of them who'd been hidden inside the piano and had somehow survived the fire. The autopsy said they died from a heart attack. The two kids were six and didn't have a prior history of cardiac disease. But Near was also sure that some of the kids had worked on their own free will.

"From what we know of the previous Kira case, Death Notes can't be used to make someone kill another person. So whoever entered the air ducts were working for Kira willingly."

Matsuda interrupted: "Maybe they were being blackmailed or threatened."

"That's irrelevant. The fact was they weren't under the Note's direct influence."

The black girl and the petit Goth were not particularly suspected, mainly because in a house with about a hundred jet-lagged kids between the ages of five and eighteen a lot of them had gone out of their rooms in the middle of the night.

When it came to the guards, B formed them in a line and in a separate table she placed Halle's things followed by those of a couple of guys and hers.

Near gave her an interrogative look.

"As you asked, we went through the guards' things and logs. Those with suspicious items or long periods of unaccounted time were set apart. In Lidner's things we found this. Is the case they used to smuggle the MP45 plastic knife, we did some checking and Gevanni found out she'd purchased it the same day we left Japan." Red had done her job. "As for agent Laramie and Roberts, they have at least an hour in which no one saw them. As far as we know no one knew they were coming. But the same can be said about Halle and me, and she brought the knife which was used to open the toolshed. And kill her. That's also suspicious. Had she been wearing her whole Tactical Assault Modular Suit it would've probably saved her life, just as it did mine. She neglected to use the neck cover." She lowered her eyes and tried to look contrite.

Near denied: "That was an attack of opportunity. I think she saw the perps and followed them. She was probably interrupted while putting on her equipment. And even with the neck cover the TAMS wouldn't have helped her against that knife. That suit is designed to provide and NIJ-IV protection against small arms, sniper attacks and even heavy ammunition. The boron nitrate plates might have helped but those are only found in the chest and back. There are small inserts in arms and legs. But the TAMS works with nanotechnology. The fiber it's made up of is a close relative of Spectra and Spider silk, it has a good resistance to water and fire and it goes rigid as soon as a pressure threshold is reached, dispersing the impact of the bullet along a wider surface. That's why it's so light, but bulletproof vests won't help against piercing weapons, that would require an added chain mail and would impair mobility."

White nodded: "As for me, I also have a period of time I can't account for, while I took a stroll around the house and before I was able to reach Gevanni's group during the attack. Then there's the small commotion over my bra at the entrance. That is in my log. And there's also this."

Aizawa, Mogi, Matsuda and Near gasped as she took it out of her suitcase: a notebook with a black cover. She turned around to one of the men standing in line.

"Agent Schwartz, you speak German. Would you be as kind as to translate what's written on this notebook?" Then she sat and waited.

He read the first few pages which had a recipe for Bavarian chocolate cake and a step by step method for growing Snowstorm orchids. Then he read a fragment of the poem "Her Eyes":

"Angel and maiden and all in one— All but the eyes…  
Her eyes were the eyes of a deathless woman,—  
With a gleam of heaven to make them pure,  
And a glimmer of hell to make them human."

"What's this?" asked Near.

"I guess you could call it a diary. I write thoughts and things I'm interest in on it. But it's also a suspicious item."

"It's just a recipe for cake!" cried out Matsuda.

"Wouldn't that be the perfect cover?"

"Is this a confession?" asked Aizawa with a strained voice.

"No. But you were all thinking it. Even Gevanni did, the moment his men found it. There's only one way to clear the air." She spoke to Near: "I wouldn't ask this of anyone else, please, write my real name on it so no one will doubt this is just what it seems." Then she turned towards the others: "Does anyone of you doubt he will write my real name?"

No one protested and Near picked up a pen. She held her breath, if she'd miscalculated what her husband knew she'd die. After 40 seconds had gone by, White said a silent thank you prayer for the gentleman caller's prevision and Red's thoroughness. They'd given her a new identity before sending her to live with her groom.

Near's reaction took them all by surprise. When the time had passed he stood up and kissed her roughly on the lips. White stood there, trying not to look embarrassed. That was so like him. He could be distant and cold most of the times. Then he would go and do something completely inadequate to show his feelings, usually in public. After that he just turned around and told them the time of waiting was over. The SPK was back in business and now they would start hunting for Kira and his Heralds. Then he said that for safety they'd work in pairs. He'd be with Aizawa, Mogi with Matsuda and B with Gevanni. The rest of the agents would do the same and Gevanni would make the pairs.

While Near debriefed the newly reformed SPK, two uninvited guests arrived at White's bedroom. One was Pasht who'd been assigned to White's Note. The other was Light who had come to put a hypothesis to the test. As soon as he entered the room he became aware of the lion-headed Shinigami. As he'd expected the Reaper couldn't see him. They both needed the Note and of course it wasn't in plain sight. Pasht paced like a caged beast and Light leaned against the wall. They waited until White and Gevanni entered the room.

Light placed a finger over his lips and White gave out no sign of having seen him. When Pasht stood in front of her, she looked right through him without making a sound. Light smiled. She'd understood what he wanted.

Pasht waved a hand in front of White with a puzzled look on his face: "I am the Death God who wards the Note you've unlawfully appropriated, mortal. I demand you hand it over."

Ligth cleared his throat and waited; none of the others seemed able of listening him. He leaned towards White: "Touch your hair if you can see the Reaper in the room." She did. "Act normally. Whatever he does, ignore him. And be very careful not to give out my presence. He can't see me."

"What's wrong with you, woman? Are you deaf, dumb or perhaps both?"

White took off her gear. Then she lifted her suitcase, put it on the bed and began unpacking. Besides her Gevanni was doing the same. When she finished she took out a pen and began writing the report Near had asked her for.

"Don't you dare ignore me, you filthy mortal! Is this a joke? You really aren't able to see me? If I were to write your name in my Note would you continue ignoring me?" Pasht took out his quail and brandished it menacingly.

White carried on with what she was doing without batting an eyelash. Light told her: "I need to ask you some questions and depending on that we'll decide how to proceed. You can't answer me out loud, but this is what we'll do: tap the pen on the table if your answer is yes and put the pen over your lips if it's not. Do you understand?"

White tapped on the table.

"Good. Are there cameras in this room?"

She answered with one tap.

"Are there cameras in the bathroom?"

White placed the pen on her lips.

"Are you sure?"

Again she put the pen over her lips. Pasht had begun writing on his Note but when White didn't reacted he stopped looking befuddled.

"We'll have to risk it. Do you have your Note with you?"

She tapped.

"Can you access it without Gevanni noticing it?"

She placed the pen on her lips.

"I'll do it, tell me where it is and get inside the bathroom"

She rose from the chair, brushed her hand casually over the suitcase and then took out some clean clothes from the closet. She turned to face Gevanni and said: "I'm going to take a bath before lunch. I hope you don't mind."

Gevanni looked up from the papers he was reading and smiled: "Not at all. Do you want me to leave?"

"No. Near wanted us to remain in pairs and I know you're a gentleman. I'll change in the bathroom," She smiled lightly and walked towards the bath covering the floating piece of paper Ligth was carrying. Pasht angrily trailed her footsteps. He was barely able to squeeze himself through the door as she closed it.

"Stupid mortals" the Shinigami muttered.

Light said: "White, we mustn't let the Reaper see what I have in my hand. Walk with me to the bathtub. Turn on the water, I'll enter and you'll draw the curtain."

White kept ignoring Pasht while she undressed, put on a robe, brushed her hair and covered it with a shower cap.

"Take off your watch and put it on the sink. Leave it in a place where I can touch it. In case there are cameras the vapor will cover me."

She did as she was told. Light cautiously manipulated the analog watch; pointed the hour hand towards the rising sun and found the center point of the angle between it and the 12 o'clock mark on the dial. He traced an imaginary line over it. That was the north-south line. Standing over it he pointed his right hand towards the rising sun. So on his right there was east, on his left west and in front of him north.

"Find a way of cutting yourself, I need your blood. Make it look accidental. Then you'll walk away, sit on the toilet and wait for the tub to fill."

She placed her right foot over the edge of the bathtub, began shaving and let out a small yelp when she cut. She focused hard on not reacting while he put his finger on the cut. When he took it off she rinsed.

Facing east he said:

"Ego excito ira ventorum rotantum  
contrictum figura umbrana aeris  
in ventus versantes tutelae."

Turning south he said:

"Ego excito globus flammae infernae  
contrictum narrationes cinerium  
in circulus flammarum cingentum."

Facing west he spoke:

"Ego excito gustatus subtilis veneni et integritatis  
contrictum pulmones aquae mortisque  
in turris aquae rotantis."

He turned north:

"Ego excito auctus reptentum  
contrictum sensus venatoris  
in laqueus textorum textoris."

Finally, standing in the center of the clockwise circle he'd traced, he raised his hands and cried out:

"Ego excito verba taciturnitatis perpetuae  
contrictum spiritus frigidus mendacii dicti  
in pondus inferorum mille."

While he spoke he was rapidly drawing on a piece of Death Note. The elements were drawn in the inverse order they were called forth: a pentacle for Earth to encircle all, a chalice for Water in the base to balance the star. And in the center he drew a sword for Fire crossing over a staff for Air. By the time the Shinigami became aware something was happening, he'd already been trapped.

Light hadn't been sure the spell would work. But the moment he started speaking the Latin words he felt their power. It began with a warm feeling in his belly and then it spread throughout his body. It made him feel lightheaded. Afterwards he could sense traces of it sending shockwaves from head to toe. So when he reached for the lion-headed Shinigami's Note his hand was trembling and Pasht felt him before seeing him.

The death god hissed: "You! So the Synod was right. Whatever you've done, I command you to undo it!"

The tone made White look up. She quickly looked away but Pasht noticed.

"And you, you deceitful witch. You were able to see me all along. Free me now!"

Light laughed: "You're in no position to give orders. In fact, unless you have something interesting to bargain with, I might just leave you there to rot to death."

"I still have my Note. I'll kill her." Then he turned to White and growled: "You'll pay for this. I promise I'll make it painful and it won't be over soon. And then I'll kill whoever comes near."

Light kept White from moving with one imperative glance. "Don't mind him, go take your bath." After a brief hesitation she obeyed him. Light looked at the outraged Pasht and shrugged: "You'd have to do better than that. If you kill her, and anyone that comes into this room, soon enough people will stop coming. Wasting away must be a terrible way of dying. And I know of at least one person in this house who'll deduce you're here from it. This woman is his wife and he won't appreciate you killing her. I can promise he'll find a way of making you crave for a quick death. And if you manage to kill him, you'd be doing me a favor. I'm aware you still have your Note. Understand this, Shinigami: right now that and my good will are the only things standing between you and oblivion. So let's skip the empty threats and have a civilized conversation. I'll have to say that you are ahead of me in that you seem to know me. So we'll start with you telling me your name and explaining what is this Synod you speak of."

After Kira finished his discourse the Shinigami became painfully aware of the truth behind those words, he was at his mercy. Still, if that filthy mortal thought all that was needed to make Pasht bow to him were farfetched menaces, he was sadly mistaken. '_Of course the only Shinigami he's been in contact with were idiots like Ryuk and Shidoh and poor sweet Rem_.' He steeled his resolve and got ready to show him what real Death Gods were made of.

Light had the opportunity to make an appraisal of Pasht. By the time they'd finished their talk he knew all he'd wanted. In fact he was a little bit disappointed of how easy it'd been. That pompous fool wasn't smart enough to keep his mouth shut and as soon as he became aware of the situation he was in, he gave in to Kira's demands. A part of Light missed Ryuk and Rem. '_At least he had guts and she had brains, unlike this buffoon'._ He had been so caught up that he hadn't noticed White was dressed up and waiting by the door for him to tell her they could go out.

As he and White were leaving the bathroom he put one of his hands over hers: "You know I wouldn't have let him hurt you, right?"

She gave him a small nod without looking in his direction. He leaned over her shoulder and brushed her ear with his lips: "You did well. I'm proud of you." Then he melted into the shadows and left. White and Gevanni made their way to the dinning room.

When White sat down in front of Near, she still had goose bumps on her arms. Mogi offered to close the window thinking she was cold. She wasn't. Someone might think she was scared if they'd noticed the racing pulse beating on her neck. Still if someone really observant were to look closely at her they might've discovered the truth, by looking at how her hand shook slightly as she lifted her glass that quickly hid the smile playing in the corner of her lips.

She was still enjoying the afterglow of that pleasant moment when a thought hit her like a punch in her stomach. She'd made a terrible mistake. The gentleman caller had no reason to be proud of her. She'd let Near touch her Note. Now all he had to do was enter her bathroom to find a 6' 3'' lion-headed proof of her treason. She wasn't hungry anymore but she wasn't going to make things worst, so she swallowed the pasta plate she had in front of her like an automaton.

_**Next on Kira's Kingdom, Scroll 9- Facing the music: A mysterious man appears endangering Light's plans. And Near surprises the reformed SPK with a controversial measure to discover the Wammy's mole.**_

_**Explanation of Black's Conduct**__: For killing with a DN you write down people's names while picturing a precise image of their faces. This is not like firing a gun at a mob; it's closer to strangulation. You may even call it intimate, if you can use that term for assassination. _

_Except for Snyder (Mello's drone) and Higuchi (3rd Kira) DN users pay a price (other than death). My hypothesis is that if you are not a douchebag, using DNs onsets defense mechanisms. You have Mikami robotically repeating: 'Delete'; Misa's and Takada's willingness to follow orders blindly; Light creating a god-like persona. Not one of them saw their victims as human. Light showed some regret, early on, then he decided the 'rotten' should die and eventually those included all who opposed him. _

_Well, Black is a Death Note and self-mutilates to murder children whose 'crime' is being a potential threat to musings of a better world. Plus she's been abused for 8 years. Think abused is too strong a word? What'd you think if you walked into a hotel room and caught a 23-year-old whispering to a half naked 15-year-old: 'if you need to scream, bite the pillow'? (Btw that happened in ch1 and I'm still surprised I got away with writing it). _

_Given that, is it odd that when the only person Black cared for was killed she temporarily lost it? I think it's a testament to her strength that she's only experienced one dissociative episode. I agree with you two though, warfare, murder and child abuse are, thankfully, aberrant occurrences most of us won't experience in real life_

_**Digression on the Method of Loci**__: This is a mnemonic were objects to be remembered are imagined in known locations (loci). Perhaps you'd heard about it, especially through the compelling notion of a Memory Palace. If you remember it from Stephen King's "Dreamcatcher", Gene Wolfe's "Soldier of the Mist" and "Soldier of Areté" or Thomas Harris "Hannibal", you probably thought it to be a cockamamie idea, an ancient Greek parlor trick or a memory aid that requires a prodigious memory to begin with, which would render it useless to us common folk. Neither of those propositions is true, the technique is real, quite useful in everyday life and is available to anyone who wants to try it:_

_-Imagine a very familiar place, such as a well-known street, building or room, which has many distinctive locations. My little sis uses places from her favorite videogames. After long hours of playing, she knows them like the palm of her hand.  
-Imagine yourself walking through it, carefully examining each location. E.g. in my bedroom I imagine walking through the door, turning right, seeing the dressing table, walking to it, looking at it, turning around towards the bed, looking at the bed, etc…  
-Now, make up a vivid, concrete list of everything that you need to remember. E.g. five items I need to buy: milk, ham, oranges, fabric softener and napkins.  
-Associate each item with a location or highlight of the room. Imagine it as vividly as you can. E.g. the milk goes with the imitation mother of pearl comb and brush vanity set on the dressing table; the ham with the plush winged-pig lying on my side of the bed; the oranges with Red's ever present orange Tic-Tacs on his nightstand; the fabric softener-Downy- with Arlington Robinson's "The Town Down the River" in the bookcase and the napkins with a stack of blank paper on the desk by the printer.  
-Walk through the room in your mind-eye and look in each location, seeing the item where you placed it, 'til you feel you've got it. _

_I chose a short groceries list to keep the example simple, but you can memorize anything. This beats rote learning because it engages the long term memory and you can 'walk' up and down the list starting at any point. Plus you can translate abstract concepts into concrete things that are relevant to you. E.g. the five stages of grief: denial is the slightly convex mirror on my dressing table; anger, Red's double-bladed katana on the desk; bargaining, "Everything Is Negotiable" in the bookcase; depression, the Mozartkugeln hidden under the bed and acceptance, the Tiffany lamp reproduction on my nightstand. For me mirror, sword, book, chocolate and lamp are easier to remember. When asked which state follows bargaining I don't have to go though the whole list. I know that bargaining is the book and what's in front of the bookcase is the bed and under it is the chocolate, so I answer: depression._

_The list can get as long and as complex as you want and you can itemize virtually anything. E.g. for the name of the psychiatrist who came up with the stages of grief I use three items. In a diagonal from left to right in my bookcase starting from the second shelf: a collection of vampire illustrations with Erzsébet Báthory on the cover, Grimm's "The cobbler and the Elves" and a DVD of the sitcom "Friends", from which I like the character Ross. So it is: Elisabeth Kübler-Ross._

_Sure, it's not as fancy as having your 'Memory Palace' in the Sistine Chapel and filling it with priceless masterpieces, but if you stick to places and things that you're familiar with, you won't forget them. If you want to learn more read Giordano Bruno's: "Ars Memoriae" and "De Umbris Idearum". "The Art of Memory" by Frances A. Yates is available in English and draws heavily on them._


	9. Facing the Music I

_**AN: Thanks for reviews. Sorry for the belated posting but my laptop just died on me and I had to begin almost from scratch. Nix, I used ten Tarot cards: The Fool, The Magician, The Moon, Death, The Hanged Man, The Tower, The Wheel of Fortune, The Emperor, Justice and The Judgment. Red Kitsune Flames, I'm glad you're enjoying the story, feel free to ask about anything you don't get. Pen name Kitsune chan I like to see stuck up fools brought down to their knees too. A few notes: I intend to profit from a certain ambiguity in the phrasing of the How To Use It DN's section. I'm going to interpret the word cannot in rule XXXVI to mean 'not allowed'. The word 'can' expresses ability and ability means the physical, mental or legal power to perform. The logical operator 'or' opens the door to multiple interpretations. As I understand it**__**, the law bars the practice between Shinigami but doesn't explicitly qualify its feasibility. Don't expect anything graphic though. Second, in DN after Aizawa quitted L's team we saw he has two children. One was a baby in a stroller, I assumed he was a boy and made up his name. The names of Aizawa's wife and daughter come from DN's HTR13. I have to confess the wife is sort of a Mary Sue. She's based on some role models of mine and she's a list of so called feminine virtues that I admire. Finally, there's nothing so hard to describe as music, especially for a layman, which I am. So I'm not even going to try and I recommend you to listen to the melodies mentioned. There are links in my profile to some performances I like: Saint-Saëns Opus 40- Danse Macabre in Liszt's arrangement for piano played by Arcadi Volodos; Tartini's Sonata in G minor- 'The Devil's Trill' performed by Esther Kim; Schubert's String Quartet in D minor-Death and the Maiden performed by the Alban Berg Quartet and Paganini's Caprice No. 24 in A minor performed by Jascha Heifetz**_

**Kira's Kingdom**

**Scroll 9: Facing the Music**

_**9.1 Danse Macabre:**_

"_Honor isn't about making the right choices. It's about dealing with the consequences." Midori Koto  
_"_There are male and female gods of death, but it is neither permitted, nor possible, for them to have sexual relations with humans. The gods of death also cannot have sex with each other." From DN Volume 6- How to Use It: XXXVI_

_The Shinigami Realm, the Shinigami's King's Throne Hall, third day of the 108th Shinigami Synod:_

The third day of the Synod started in a more austere fashion than the first day had. The Synod Examiners stood in silence with a severe look in their faces, their adornments and thrones all but forgotten. They met in private, for a family doesn't let its skeletons dance out of the closet when others are present.

In front of them was Zerhogie, the Shinigami who looked like a Sioux brave. Once he'd been one of them but now he stood a mere fifth rank. The Death Gods' black sheep felt the Synod's piercing eyes on him. But what he felt more acutely was how carefully Dalil Guillohrta avoided looking in his direction. The Destiny Odalisque had her gaze fixed on the ground, of what they had once shared all that remained was the shame.

In his mind he could picture himself grabbing her by the shoulders, shaking her and yelling: _'What I did, I did for you! Won't you at least look at me one last time?' _All that stopped him from doing it was the knowledge that Galikareha would kill him before he was able to lay a finger on her.

Maybe it was better that way. It might make things easier. Last time he'd faced the Synod he'd left it defeated. Now he'd come to regain his honor. A part of him still cared that she approved. A part of him hoped that perhaps she'd feel for him something other than contempt. But those thoughts were precisely what'd led him to that moment. He was left with no choice.

_'No, that's the only thing I have left: choice. I could've dragged eternally this half-existence. But now this will always be mine. I'm the only one who'll do it. And, if for nothing else, for this she'll remember me.'_

The King of Death spoke: "Zerhogie, the Synod will ask you once more: Do you understand the consequences of your decision?"

He answered: "Yes."

"Do you come of your own free will?"

"Yes."

Then the Old Man turned to face the others: "Synod, now I ask of you: Do you believe this is the only option we have? Mi answer is yes. What's yours?"

The Six answered in unison: "Yes!"

"Are you prepared to face the consequences of accepting this sacrifice? For my part, I say yes," the King waited for their answer.

Only five voices responded: "Yes!"

Kinddara Guivelostain, who seldom spoke more than two words a year, opened his maw for the second time in a few days and said: "Dalil Guillortha, you doubt?"

Armonia Jastin Beyondllemanson said: "How can this be? We've discussed it and you agreed we didn't have a choice. If as we suspect they've found it, then this is our last hope!"

Nu interrupted him, her thousand eyes blinked: "Bejeweled Skeleton, the Destiny Odalisque has already answered she understands this might be our only hope. Her doubts are about if she's prepared to face the consequences of taking her kin's life. In this matter each of us must be free to decide. And perhaps we've all been too hasty in deciding we're ready to immolate one of our own for a chance to preserve our world. We should at least take some time to think out the matter carefully"

Meadra shone blue and nodded: "This is something each of us must think out thoroughly."

"Is that what you're asking for, my child, more time to decide?" said the Death King.

"Sire, there's no time to lose. I know it. But to be able to live with this I'd like to know why he is willing to do it."

For the first time she looked at him but she wasn't able to hold his gaze.

With a sad smile Zerhogie answered: "How can I answer to what I don't fully understand myself, Sire? Part of it has to do with the need I feel to clear my name, the rest are reasons I'd rather not discuss here. Will that suffice?"

The Synod pondered his words for a minute then Galikareha nodded and said: "No one was closer to Zerhogie than me before he was demoted. And I understand why the Destiny Odalisque doubts. But Zerhogie has come here to lay out his plan. He says he's willing. I don't need to know the reasons why he's doing it. If he'll do it, then he has my respect and my support."

The King of Death asked once more: "Then, tell me 108th Synod. Are you prepared to face the consequences of accepting this sacrifice?"

The answer was unanimous: "Yes!"

This time she looked straight into his eyes. What he saw in hers ran him through like a red hot iron.

"Now, before we proceed. Zerhogie, is there something you want to say."

He had promised himself that he'd remain silent. If she hadn't looked at him he might have: "Yes. I can finally say it out-loud. It's been on my mind ever since my trial. Back then the Synod decided that I should live since no rule had actually been broken. I've lived like a wretched disgrace, searching in the Books of Law for an end that didn't come from my own hand. I find it ironic that it is now that I finally understand the fairness of your decision to spare me that I've been delivered. Now that we stand on the brink of extinction, I have a chance to clear my name. But in a few seconds that will not longer be a concern to me. What's more, if this were the reason why I'm doing this; I would be mad to carry on, for I'm not longer ashamed of what I'm about to say: Dalil Guillortha, I've always loved you. Nothing in the Laws prohibits this and there's no reason why you or I shouldn't live in peace with that knowledge. So let all Shinigami remember that is not out of shame from vile lust that I sacrifice myself."

Then he looked at Dalil, silently telling her the real reason he had for doing it. He kept his back turned away from Galikareha's scythe, fixing her image in his mind. His eyes were still locked with hers when Zerhogie's head fell to the ground and his feathered headpiece rolled in the wind before turning to sand.

Using Zerhogie's fading energy the Old Man ripped the veil between life and death and took out from it the man who'd become their champion. Galikareha offered support to the King. Kinddara carried the man in his arms. Nu and Meadra followed them tending the champion who, like the King, was now covered in a shield of darkness. When Jastin offered his arm to Dalil she took it and followed the rest of the Synod holding her head high.

_**9.2 The Devil's Trill:**_

"_We always long for the forbidden things, and desire what is denied us." François Rabelais._

_Czech Republic, March 20th 2019; sundown at a rogue hangar near the silver mines of Kutná Hora:_

"You want me to do what?" cried out Red.

"Why is it that none of you are able to understand me? Do I speak Swahili?" Black sounded exasperated to the point of murder. But then again, that seemed to be her usual frame of mind whenever she was forced to spend more than five minutes with Mac and Red.

"Of course you don't. If you did you'd understand what I mean when I call you mzungu mjinga."

Mac snorted: "Granted she isn't much of a lady, luv; but I dunno if you should call her crazy white man. How about calling her kingugwa mjinga?"

Black looked at Mac venomously: "Mzungu mjinga means crazy white person. Even I know that. And, in case you don't know it, person applies both to men and women. What's kingugwa?"

Red snorted: "Spotted hyena."

Black rolled her eyes: "I should've known it would be something stupid. Listen to me, you pair of dimwits, we've already lost too much time. So you," she looked at Red: "get under that table and you," she looked at Mac: "hit the road."

"Guess that means you aren't grateful, boss lady."

"Why should I be grateful?"

"Maybe 'cause I've skipped an exam so I could take you to the middle of nowhere to hunt for figments of your imagination. And I drove all night to reach Prague, 'cause when I left Brazil you sent me all the way to Vienna."

Black started speaking in the patronizing tone one uses to explain complex concepts to half-witted children: "College is only a cover to keep you out of trouble with Interpol. We need you to be close by, but not close enough to draw attention to us. And Vienna is hardly an exile; though it figures sending you there would be throwing pearls to the pigs. Plus, judging from your grades, you've only started to care about exams recently. Further more, we needed a private location but this is hardly the middle of nowhere. Kutná Hora is a UNESCO's World Heritage site. Finally, the only reason why you're here is because Miss 'I'm-so-rational' here says she doesn't 'believe' in driving and because I can't drive with my legs like this. You weren't supposed to know what we're doing here but Red can't keep her mouth shut. As for the 'figments of my imagination', Shinigami are real. I don't need your girl's machine to tell me one is coming. I have my own radar. The fur of my skin has been on edge all day. But that may be thanks to the bump in my head."

That woman had a way of driving Mac to the edge in seconds flat. He tried to control his temper, clenching his fist: "First, my grades are low 'cause I got better things to do than working my ass off to turn in idiotic papers and attend boring classes. The teachers are morons. Why would I want to listen to any of them indulging in an hour of self-praise and intellectual masturbation? I depend on exams for keeping my cover. I ace those. Second, I'm not your chauffer. I'm here for Red; she phoned telling me that she feared you were going to go rhino on her again. Third, your wounds are self inflicted so don't expect sympathy from me. I don't give a damn about how you get your trills," he coughed: "Cutter pervert," then he continued: "And, you weren't like this before your 'accident'? Maybe a second bump in the head will help."

Red sighed looking from one to the other, bickering was so stressful. She held Mac by the hand and gave him a small reassuring squeeze that made him look at her with a smile: "Nope, hon. That won't fly, she's always been like this." Then she turned around to face Black and said: "It's not like I think cars are devil machines or that I can't drive. It's just I don't wanna do anything that according to the NSC has 1 in 84 chances of leading to death."

"Cor! And how are you supposed to go from one place to another?

"I have two legs, you know? But when I don't want to use those, I use my bike for short distances and a plane for longer distances. That's 1 in 4,919 chances of dying and 1 in 5,051 respectively."

"Who comes up with those bollocks? Don't answer, dear, that's a rhetorical question. And I think those statistics apply to passengers as well as drivers. So you've risked your life just by boarding your knight's steed, more so because the knight in question has a fixation for dangerously fast cars."

"I trust Mac."

"Hah! And I'm the one who's crazy. By the way, what exactly did you meant by me going rhino again, John?"

Mac cried out: "Woman, that's not a car! That's THE car: an Enzo Ferrari 2003. That's a V12. It has a carbon-fiber body, F1-style sequential shift transmission with a shift time of just 150 milliseconds and carbon-ceramic Brembo disc brakes. It uses active aerodynamics. After a downforce of 1709 lb is reached at 186 mph the rear wing is actuated by computer to maintain it. It can accelerate to 60 mph in 3.14 seconds, reach 100 mph in 6.6 seconds and the top speed is estimated at 217 mph. Maybe is not as fast as the Koenigsegg CCX but this has style, baby. And in case you don't know it, again means you've already gone rhino and then you went once more."

"Just what I needed: another tech freak. You lost me after the Ferrari 2000 whatever. I don't give a damn about your car or about how you compensate for your Freudian shortcomings," she coughed: "Phallic proxy," then she continued: "I know what again means and, on second thought, I've heard more than enough from you. Grab your boy toy and go wait by the curve, James." She finished purposefully mistaking his name with a smug smile.

He pulled out a gun and pointed it at her. Black, who was expecting something of the sort, grabbed Red and placed her dagger on the girl's throat.

Mac smiled defiantly: "You're one to talk. What's that badass plane you keep here, phallic envy or a Napoleon complex?"

She matched his smile: "Says the boy with the small brain and the big gun, is that even loaded or do you carry it around to impress the 'babes'?"

"Midget"

"Arsehole"

Red was once more in the center of a Mexican standoff that had degenerated into a name-calling match. And she sure as hell wasn't enjoying the experience: "Crap! This is what he means by going rhino again. You've done it thrice!" She pouted and counted with her fingers: "One, when Kira smacked you in the head. Two, on the way down here when we missed that truck by inches and you wanted to make Mac slow down; even though you were the one who'd told him to step on it in the first place. And now, it makes three. You know you can't kill me because of Galileo so put the knife away. And you, Mac, the big boss will have your hide if you so much as mess the hair of this psycho, so lower your gun. Play nice children. Remember we've got bigger fish to fry."

They did as Red said and Black commented: "Finally, something coherent comes out from your mouth. For the record, that's not just any airplane. That is THE plane. That's a British Harrier, the longest-serving combat aircraft of the modern era. This one has a Rolls-Royce Pegasus 105, with 21,750lb vectored-thrust turbofan. It has four exhaust nozzles which make it capable of vertical or short take off. Plus, listen to this lover boy, its maximum speed is 662 mph. To put it in the schoolyard lingo you're likely to understand: 'Mine is way better than yours.' You'll probably need a private moment, go cry in your car." she turned towards Red: "Now quit the yakking girl, get down on all fours and crawl under that table."

Red shrugged her nose: "Yeah, yeah, Rule Britannia. But no, I'm not going down there. It's filthy."

"Lord, grant me patience. It's not filthy, I've clean it myself."

"There are oil stains all over the floor and I've witnessed what you call cleaning. I don't wanna die like that."

"You've got 10 seconds to crawl down there or tell me exactly how you want to die and I'll grant your deepest darkest. One, two, three, four..."

Red bit her lower lip, looking reluctantly at the space underneath the table.

Mac said: "I'll do it."

Red looked at him with puppy eyes: "You would?"

"Aw! How gallant. You two are pathetic. And he can't. If we manage to get a hold of the Note, I don't want him as the owner."

"He doesn't have to be. I'll go wait in the car and the moment you have it, I'll come. Here, I have some transmitters in my pocket, they're really small and Mr. Reaper won't notice."

"From Kira's stories we know Shinigami can locate hidden devices if they look for them, we can't risk it. It's going to be hard enough keeping the Reaper distracted so it doesn't notice what's under the table. And we've only brought one mask. Have you grown a backbone all of the sudden, Red?"

Mac didn't let her answer: "It'll be a loaner. Or you can keep it. For what Red tells me those things are supposed to bring bad mojo to the owners. If we get lucky we might lose you."

Black smacked her lips: "We don't have time for this. The Reaper is due any minute now. I can feel it. You're on," she turned around and poked Mac's chest with her forefinger, then she said to Red: "We'll make your boyfriend a believer. Debrief him while you hide that conspicuous car of his and I'll look for a canvas to cover the table."

As they walked to the car Red told him what he had to do, being adamant on the fact he had to draw blood or it might not work. She opened her backpack and handed him a fountain pen with a pointy nib and piston filler. Then she went into a very graphic description of how he was supposed to fill it. And then she gave him a compass, a piece of paper with something written over a weird drawing, a bag of apples and a dog plastic mask which she claimed he should wear for his own protection.

Mac looked at it all and exclaimed: "Whoa! Luv, I'm not sure of what we're talking here. But before you start again let me tell you: I'm sure that bitch's friends, if she has them, enjoy her satanic dominatrix act. Hey, when she keeps her mouth shut she's not hard on the eyes. And I'm no saint. I've been known to have some odd cravings. But I've my standards, there are a couple of things that I'm not willing to do. And I can't see what this has to do with bringing about Kira's Kingdom."

Red burst in laughter: "Oh Mac, you know I wouldn't ask you to do anything wicked… with anyone else but me." She winked: "Come, we can't make her wait. I'll explain this slowly and then we'll go through the Latin. Pronounce it carefully but keep your voice low or our guest will notice you're there. This is serious business. Believe me; you don't wanna face Kira if we fail on this one. Take care."

_**9.3 Death and the Maiden**_

"_Always forgive your enemies, but never forget their names." John F. Kennedy_

_Czech Republic, March 20th 2019; a rogue hangar near Kutná Hora:_

"I'm a Death God. I've been looking for you."

Mac was startled by the guest, a blue version of Edward Scissorhands on steroids. As Red had told him he'd been grabbing Black's ankle to be able to see him. And he'd squeezed Black a little too hard. The bitch stepped on his other hand and he had to bite his tongue not to yelp. Nevertheless, he had a new found respect for the little lady, both because she was standing like it was a picnic with her legs cut to shreds and because she was as cool as a cucumber in the face of the monster. Mac couldn't help wondering exactly for whom he had been working for the past year -if the blue guy was his boss' kin that would explain why Kira didn't like to be seen in public.

"I know who you are. I knew you were coming. And I wanted to meet you somewhere private, even if I know no one else can see you." Black explained.

"You knew I was coming?"

"Not you in particular. I don't think we've been properly introduced. But, given what I am, one of you was going to come sooner or later."

He frowned: "But you knew I was coming now because you left Prague in a hurry."

_'Aha! He's smarter than he looks. But not smart enough, I just have to keep him talking while lover boy does his part_.' Black nodded: "Yes. Are you wondering how I knew? Are you expecting a monologue? 'Mr. Shinigami, my evil plot is so very clever I can't wait to tell you, maw-ha-ha-ha.'"

He scratched his head: "Isn't that done right before the villain tries to kill the hero?"

"You don't have to worry because I'm not a villainess and I can't kill you, can I?"

"No, you can't."

"And in any case, it's really all very technical and boring, so why don't we skip it. I'd rather talk about what you're doing here."

"Who cares for boring stuff? And you know why I'm here."

The blue guy grabbed her arm half lifting her lithe frame off the ground and Mac wondered if he should try to do something. For what Red had said he couldn't kill 'the guest' with a gun, but his mom had raised a gentleman. Then the boss lady laughed and he decided that he'd better hurry up with the spell.

"My, so forward, and on the very first date... I'm sorry to disappoint you but grabbing me won't work. I'm my own person. You can't have me if I don't want you to."

The Shinigami's eyes gave out a blue light: "Are you sure?"

What he'd said about boring stuff and the way he'd said that last line made something inside Black's head click: "You're not questioning the fact you can't appropriate me, are you? You're thinking about him. He doesn't own me either."

"I dunno who you're talking about."

"Oh you do. And you're afraid."

"I'm not afraid."

"You're a liar, Shinigami. And you're quite right to be scared. Especially since you can't be sure Kira isn't here. This might be a trap. You know how smart he is. I might've put up a big act of being alone to get you here. He might even be right behind you and you wouldn't know. Or maybe you would now that you've touched me."

He turned around wide-eyed. He was really scared and that made Black confirm her suspicions.

"Judases' consciences make for scaredy cats. I bet you'd wish you were anywhere else but here, don't you Ryuk? That makes me wonder why you're here at all. Who sent you?" Black smiled, the death god was good. He hadn't even flinched when she'd said his name.

"Why would I tell you anything?" He spread out his wings, tried to fly and couldn't.

"Mayhap because you don't have much choice, either you sing for me or we'll wait for Kira to come. I bet he's going to be trilled to see you there like a rat in a mousetrap. Yes, he's going to be so happy that we'll have us a party."

"Let me go or I'll kill you."

"Is that supposed to scare me? Quoting your own rules: 'The owner of the Death Note cannot be killed by a god of death who is living in the world of the gods of death. Also, a god of death who comes to the human world with the objective to kill the owner of the Death Note will not be able to do so. Only a god of death that has passed on their Death Note to a human is able to kill the owner of the Death Note.' Do you happen to have a spare you can give out so then you can try and kill me?"

"How do you know the rules?"

"You're a curious little imp, aren't you? But I'll tell you, as homage to movie villains everywhere, even if you aren't much of a hero. One of your own let the proverbial cat out of the bag and one of my own was clever enough to catch it on paper. Then it traveled down the river of time and I fished it out a few years back. It took forever to translate that mismatched Coptic, but I managed. Now I'll ask once more: Who sent you?"

Ryuk sat crossing his legs, shut his mouth and looked the other way.

Black leaned towards him, keeping just out of the seal: "We can wait 'til you drop dead."

Ryuk looked at her, even sited his eyes were at her eyes level. For such a small mortal she sure was a bundle: "Hyuk, hyuk, you'll go first. Before coming, I got myself about three hundred years."

Her father had told her that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. She'd brought something in case another apples' fan came to her. She decided she was going to profit from her good luck: "Well then, you won't mind if first I have lunch. I haven't eaten since yesterday evening."

She pulled the tablecloth off the table and signaled Mac: "This is Johnny Appleseed. Come out of there, Johnny." She whistled and snapped her fingers.

Mac crawled from under the table, wearing the ridiculous dog mask. He blushed underneath it when the blue guy chuckled and said: "That's not your puppy's real name."

Black said: "That's a guess. You can't see his name while he wears the mask."

"Yes, the rules speak about the Death God's eyes. But how do you know that they don't apply exclusively to humans with the power?"

"I don't and I don't care. Plus if you're thinking of using the pup as a hostage I'll tell you that I'll clap while you choke him."

"Now I know why Light chose you."

"Johnny, please tell our guest what you have in that bag."

Mac felt like an actor who doesn't know his lines. He looked at Black crossly from behind the mask and said: "I've got apples."

"That's right. A plethora of them," she opened the bag and showed Ryuk, "we have red, green and yellow apples. One for every taste: the ever popular McIntosh, so tender. The iconical Red Delicious, crisp enough to tempt Snow White. The tart Granny Smith and the sprightlier Golden Delicious, the spicy Winesap and we also brought all the Jonathan family" she took out one, "but my personal favorite is the Gala. See how the yellow skin is finely striped with red? As if it'd been painted by Salvador Dalí himself. This darling may look like a peach but it has character. I dare you to take a bite from a Gala and not think it's the best bloody apple you've ever tasted in your life," she took a bite, "Oh and look at that creamy yellow flesh, it's so dense. It's so sweet and so juicy it drips when you bite it," she licked the juice off her hand and then took another bite, "and that smell makes me heady. Would you want to try it?"

Black wasn't offering it to Ryuk, she had her arm extended towards Mac. At first he was reluctant to literally eat of the bitch's hand, but after a look at the blue guy he took a bite. Whatever the witch was trying to do, it was working. The blue guy was drooling. His eyes had that eager look Mac had seen so often in Tareyja's eyes. The same kind of look that up until last year -when he'd gone cold turkey- he'd also seen staring back from the mirror. He thought: _'That guy has a monkey on his back and hasn't fed the bastard in some time.'_

Mac smiled: "That's a real good apple. And I don't even like apples. I'll have another bite if you'll give it to me."

"That's a really good apple" corrected him Black, "and don't be shy, grab one. We have a bagful."

Mac took out the reddest apple from the bag, gave it a big crunchy bite and heard the blue guy moan.

Black turned around covering her mouth with fake shock: "Oh my, how ill-mannered of us. We've forgotten to offer some to our guest."

She walked towards Ryuk, carrying an apple in each hand: "But that's because our guest has been very rude. We've asked him one very simple question and he's refused to answer. Have you changed your mind?"

"The Synod sent me. That's all I can tell you. I'll have an apple now."

"Na-ah, you aren't the one who gets to decide when you've told me enough. And you'll only get an apple if you're a good death god."

That blue guy wasn't going to be easy to break. Mac knew it when he saw him stiffening: "I'm not opening my mouth until you give it to me."

"That's the wrong answer. Maybe I can't wait for three hundred years to see you die, little god, but you'll beg to be fed way before that."

"I don't need to eat."

"Is that so? I wonder how long it'd take for you to eat apples from my hand once you start twisting like a pretzel and doing handstands."

"You're just toying with me. I'm not talking to you anymore."

"Aw, the little baby wants to cry." Black started dancing around the blue guy with her skirt billowing about her. From what Mac'd seen of her legs it was a marvel she could stand at all. That crazy bitch had balls.

She was keeping the apples just out of reach from the blue guy and chanting: "We're going to make Death your bride: Something old, something new; something borrowed, something blue; and a silver six pence on her shoe. We'll make that a tuppence and you'll save it for the ferryman."

"I won't die from this."

Black laughed: "I know that. But you're going to wish you could. Not only because you won't have any apples but because you'll be alone between drab grey walls with nothing to do but sulk. You're a gambler, aren't you? Why don't we make a bet? Which do you gather will drive you mad first: withdrawal or boredom?"

The blue guy was trembling and Mac could bet it was from anger. Ryuk said through clenched fangs: "You'll pay for this."

She raised an eyebrow: "How? You can't get loose and the only way you can kill me is if you give away your Note. I'll make sure that only people loyal to Kira come here. People you can not bribe or scare into doing what you want. Plus things have changed from the last time you were here. That's the only Note you've got and if you give it away, you'll be helpless. And even if you managed to escape you can't lay a hand on me or you'll get the extreme punishment and you'll automatically crumble to dust. Quite the conundrum, isn't it? But you aren't going to have time to work on it. Kira's coming. If you cooperate with me I might convince him to throw some crumbs your way once in a while. Talk! And you'd better make it worth my troubles, because right now you'd need a miracle to save you."

Mac hit her with the apple bag and she fell to the ground, unconscious. Then he rolled her out of the way with his boot saying: "I'll help you with that, man."

"Why?" Ryuk was looking at him through narrowed eyes.

Mac gave him his best smile: "'Cause I sorta like you, us junkies have to stick together. That's one nasty monkey you're carrying around. Been there, done that. And 'cause I'm only loyal to myself. You have something I want. I don't think I'll get another chance to get my hands on a Note."

"I can't let you touch my Death Note. As she said, I'll die if I don't have one."

"Hey, it's only a loan, man."

"How do I know you'll give it back?"

He took off the dog mask: "Here. You see my name? The man I want to kill is called Grisha. We share the same surname. I can't do it without the Death Note or I'll never escape his gang's revenge. You can't do it 'cause you've never seen him and I don't carry a picture of my dad in my wallet. I know you won't kill me now 'cause if you do you'll have to face Kira. And I need more than one page. After I finish with daddykins I need to deal with his enemies. That's a long list. Also I need to kill the guys who'll remain loyal to him after he dies, that list is shorter. But anyway, with your Note I'll make my way to the top easier with a couple of those bastards dying from STDs, cancer or the like every few years. I don't know exactly how I can free you, but I have access to this bitch's scrolls and I can find that out too. Plus in case Kira gets here before we can get you out you can pretend you hid your Note before coming… That'll give you an edge. And I'll kill this crazy bitch for you. We'll make it look like an accident. There's another girl around here, ya know, but she'll say whatever I tell her to." Mac's smile widened.

Ryuk snorted: "Quite the ladies man, ain't you? How do I know I can trust you or this other girl?"

Mac: "I'm not stupid enough to think that no girl can resist me. But this one in particular won't tell on me. And you can trust me 'cause you know my name and you're gonna keep half the pages to guarantee my good behavior."

"That's all very interesting but you still haven't answered my question. Why are you doing this?"

"Listen, she's going to be out for a while and she wasn't able to call the big boss so he doesn't know where we are and it'll take him some time to figure it out. I'll tell you a story so you know you can trust me: Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess, everyone loved her. That was her curse. When her father died, she became Queen and had no choice but to marry her douchebag cousin, a duke, to deal with her dad's numerous enemies. The Duke had always wanted to become king and thought he deserved it 'cause his dad had been one before he died and the crown passed to his uncle.

"All his life he'd watched the princess prancing about without giving him so much as a look. So he enjoyed humiliating her, especially at nightfall when they were alone. That's when he turned into a monster and the Queen had nowhere to run. So she picked up a bottle of magic juice to ease up the pain and turned into a monster too. But she was the sort of monster that just lies there while people, including her, get hurt. And during the days she still was the Queen. She bore the Duke a son and despite everything she loved the little Prince dearly.

"The Prince loved her too. But there are some things that the love of a little prince won't do for a queen. Then one day a knight who'd been away from the court from some time came back. The Queen and the Knight were childhood friends and when he came back they renewed their friendship. But they weren't children anymore and their friendship wasn't quite the same. You can imagine that if the little Prince noticed, anyone could.

"The King was furious, but he couldn't confront the Queen and save face. So first he sent the Knight after a dragon that was called Invincible. The dragon lived up to its name and the Knight didn't come back. The Queen began using the magic juice even during the days. That's when the King approached her saying that she had a problem and that he'll help her deal with it. He told her he'd met a magician who could brew a magic potion that'd stop the Queen from turning into a fulltime monster.

"It doesn't take a genius to guess what the potion gimmick was really about. For three months the little Prince sat through every meal, from breakfast to dinner, watching his mom swallow her death with resignation. And that's when he decided he was going to kill daddy in a way in which he couldn't be blamed. The Prince would wait for the King to be in his deathbed to whisper in his ear that he knew it all, that he was killing him for it and taking his kingdom away from him. He was also planning to say that the knight hadn't been the first and he was going to fabricate proof that he wasn't the king's son."

"But, as usual, some things are easier said than done. The Prince tried to find a way to avenge the Queen that didn't get him killed and couldn't. That's when the world changed. Justice came back from the moon in the guise of a faceless god that called himself Killer. He came with the wrath of a lion, striking down all the sinners. Oh how the little Prince used to pray for the killer god to notice his father's sins. But just as suddenly as Justice came, it disappeared without a trace. Bet it was unionized. When it came back the Prince promised he'd find a way of making the Killer god see that his dad didn't deserve to live. Guess now we all know what good praying does to anyone. There might still be a chance for the Prince to have what he wants, though. He has grown up to be a crafty bastard Rogue who might find a way of stealing his happy ending."

The blue guy sized Mac up.

Mac let him and then he said: "So what's it gonna be, man. Do we have a deal?"

Ryuk, who was a very good liar, could spot falsehood from a mile. The guy was sterling. The story was his and he desperately wanted to kill his father and avenge his mother. He nodded and gave Mac a book with skulls, after tearing some pages from it.

That's when Black pushed a button and drenched him with acid from a cube that'd been hanging over the plane. The Shinigami had been too caught up in the tale to notice when it had started to move down a rail. The acid from the cube did nothing to Ryuk but it destroyed the pages he was holding in his hands.

Black smiled sweetly: "I thought that'd happen. From the moment a human touches the Death Note it becomes a part of the mortal world. My dear Ryuk, you've been had. Now in other order of business," she turned around with the smile still on her face and punched Mac in the face.

Mac rubbed his chin and cried out: "Hey! What was that for?"

"The kick wasn't a part of the plan. The next time you feel the need to improvise, I'll neuter you"

"I was in the moment. And I didn't kick you. I rolled you out of the way. You pack a mean right hook, midget."

"Bollocks! Now wait here and keep an eye on him while I go have some lunch."

"Isn't your spell supposed to take care of that? I just gave an effing Oscar performance and you aren't even gonna ask if I want something to eat too?"

"Hah, Like I care! And a word of advice, don't quit the day job. I'd trouble keeping it down during that sob story of yours. Talk about overacting. I thought I was going to burst a rib laughing. But I guess you weren't worst than the guys on the telly. So after we're done, I'll let Red bring you the leftovers"

She strutted out haughtily and Mac gave her the finger as soon as she'd turned her back around.

Ryuk chuckled.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Females"

Mac sighed: "Yours too? Crap! Now we have to wait here. I hope you know this wasn't personal, man. I've already struck a deal with the devil for my father's life. And even among crooks there are some rules. For now I'm with Kira. No hard feelings?"

"I understand. And I hope you understand that as soon as I'm out of here you're dead. Nothing personal, man," said Ryuk showing his pointy teeth.

Mac shrugged: "Business as usual. Hey, do they play poker where you come from?"

"We have chance games and I've seen poker games on TV."

Mac took out a pack of cards from his pocket: "Wanna play?"

"Don't have nuthing to bet with."

"Tell you what, if I win I get a question about Notes answered and if you win you get an apple."

"How do you know I won't lie?"

"I don't, just as you don't know if I'll really give you an apple. But it helps pass the time."

They both had shark-like smiles when Mac started dealing the cards.

_**9.4 Caprice**_

"_A reasonable man adapts himself to suit his environment. An unreasonable man persists in attempting to adapt his environment to suit himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man." George Bernard Shaw_

_U.S. Nevada, the Mojave desert, April 18th 2019, in a safe house near the town of Mesquite:_

Suichi Aizawa had trouble sleeping in a bed other than his. Especially with Near in the same room. The detective insisted on living between plain white walls. Save for the toys and gadgets littering the floor, his room had the sterile feel hospitals and morgues do. To make matters worst, he left the light on and didn't make a sound. He was so pale that when he was motionless he looked like a corpse.

Aizawa was used to listening to his wife lightly snoring under the cozy darkness of their kakebuton. That was one of the few gestures of boldness Eriko had showed when it came to interior décor. In what was otherwise a very minimalist household, she had picked up a kobana sakura design for the futon. He smiled at the thought of it and then he sighed. Maybe his troubles falling asleep had more to do with missing the woman he'd slept with for nearly twenty years. So rather than lying awake in Near's stark white room, he'd offered to take over surveillance's duty during the nightshift. He looked at the monitors. It was around midnight and some of the kids where still awake in their cells.

Though by now he'd trouble thinking about them as kids. He'd seen few people who'd be able to endure imprisonment with such composure. Their teachers had caved in on the first few days. They had been moved to a separate wing by request of their own alumni, who claimed no one could live with all their whining.

Except for the first initial outburst the children have been unnaturally calmed. The first day they'd found the cameras after a few minutes of searching for them. They said that they weren't Kira's agents looking towards the lenses. Some even demanded to be let out so they could prove it and help with the investigation. Then some of the others had started a riot. They yelled that they were sitting ducks there. They said that the investigation was obviously led by an idiot who'd let their names leak out and brought them into a death trap. They demanded to be let out because they were the true heirs to L's name.

Then Near had talked to each one of them through the speakers. They'd ended up agreeing that, for the time being, there was no way to prove they weren't on Kira's side. Near asked for some time to figure it out, surprisingly they had agreed.

From then on some of them had asked for books and assorted games and toys. Those passed their times quietly while trying to think their way out of the cells. Watching them was disturbing. But those who were the hardest to swallow were the ones who had come up with an impromptu competition to make the guards lose it. They kept track of each other's activities and asked the guards watching the monitors to help them keep the score in the name of 'fair play'. How they managed to communicate with each other locked inside stripped down cells where not even metallic spoons were allowed was a mystery that Near hadn't bothered trying to solve. The detective thought that as long as they couldn't escape there was no harm in them chatting amongst themselves.

Aizawa begged to disagree. The kids had managed to make trained FBI and CIA agents reveal personal information and had thrown it back transformed in bone chilling menaces and dirty songs. In most cases their little quips hit the bullseye.

Take for example the couple of guards that had been faced with twenty six kids who woke up in the middle of the night, sat in their beds and started singing to the top of their lungs a song about the affair one of them had with the other's wife. The words they sang in perfect unison to the music of humpty dumpty would have made a drunken sailor blush. The most shocking part was that apparently what they said about the fickle wife's habits was true. The FBI task leader wanted to know how they'd found out about the dirty details. Aizawa was more interested in finding out how they'd known when the two men were going to be doing a shift together.

Some of Gevanni's men had to be transferred for fear they might end up committing infanticide. The victims included a veteran who had guarded at least 9 of the most unsavory mobsters of all times while they waited for their chance to stab their former employers' backs in the witness stand. It had taken three agents to drag him away to an early retirement while he shouted that now he understood what King Herod was thinking. The man, who was an old school republican, had tried to strangle a ten year old French boy who'd after a week of acting suspiciously friendly towards his guards had looked up at the camera and requested in a polite fluty voice a change in the guard's shifts because his bladder was about to burst and he just couldn't feel safe with the old fag looking at him in such a dirty way while he peed. At first the veteran had stood frozen but then the meaning of the boys words sunk in and he had made a move towards him. The boy had looked at the camera once more saying that they should hurry up before the FBI had a statutory rape demand on its hands. That had pushed the FBI veteran over the edge. But the boy, a strawberry blond called Serge, hadn't lost his cool, not even when a man that was at least two and a half feet taller than him, and who had been professionally trained to kill, had his hands around his neck. The feat had been all the other kids talked about for several days and had granted the boy the dubious honor of becoming the score leader of their sick little game.

With all the different strategies each kid had chosen to pass the time, the fact remained that after a month of imprisonment all of them were eerily cool -even the youngest. The same couldn't be said about the guards. The safe house had earned itself a reputation of being a place most smart agents wanted to avoid at all cost. The order that Near had given of avoiding all further communication with the kids hadn't prevented the Wammy's from finding ways to keep their contest going.

Now Near said he might have a solution. Watari had found a woman who'd been doing research with MRI based brain scanners. This was the latest in lie-detection. Some said there was no way to beat it. As long as there was awareness of being untruthful the brain activity would show in the pictures.

The reformed SPK hadn't agreed with having the kids in cells but there wasn't much choice. Now there was also disagreement with the proposal that as soon as possible the woman would come with her equipment to run tests on the kids. Of course, the evidence gathered by it wouldn't stand in court.

Near ran the idea by the kids. They were quite interested by the notion. Some even asked if it'd work if Kira was able to induce memory losses as seemed to be the case with Misa Amane. Near said he'd already thought about it and didn't think the trick would work on people who hadn't owned a Death Note. If DN owners could induce memory losses on just about anyone then they wouldn't have been able to catch the first Kira.

Plus he doubted all Kira's agents had a DN. If Kira had access to an unlimited amount of Notes he would have used them. But Kira was using the same MO as the first time so it was safe to assume that he had access to a limited supply of DNs, if he had more than one. So he probably wouldn't risk giving them out indiscriminately. The suspects' belongings had been searched thoroughly and nothing had been found. Hence Near thought there was less than 2 percent probability that the moles were DN users. The moles might pretend to have lost their memory to try to escape the judicial consequences of their actions, but doing it right after finding about the brain scanning test would be a dead giveaway. The kids agreed with that reasoning.

And that brings us to the second reason why Aizawa couldn't sleep. B, who was usually of the same opinion as Near, had opposed the idea of the MRI brain scanning fiercely.

The objections she posed were reasonable enough. Turns out she had a criminal psychology degree and she said MRI lie-detection depends on the assumption some scientists make that lying is more cognitively complex than telling the truth, and therefore it activates more of the brain. But she said that like the physiological changes monitored during polygraph tests, the brain-activity patterns measured during MRI are not specific to deception, making it challenging to identify the particular pattern of a lie. And the kids had been subjected to a lot of stress so there was no telling how that'd affect the results. Furthermore, after seeing their response to imprisonment, she doubted a technique that was in the developmental stage and that depended heavily on testing done on a wider population, would serve to test subjects that varied so widely from the mean. In the end they'd cast a vote and reached a stalemate.

It was all very reasonable, except it wasn't. Aizawa agreed that the subjects weren't common, but anything that'd help them narrowing down the number of children in cells sounded good to him. He didn't understand why she wasn't able to see that. So from that day he'd kept an eye on the blonde.

She seemed to be dealing with stress better than the rest of the SPK. Aizawa had said it out-loud and then Matsuda commented that she'd started wearing make up, then he'd added with dreamy eyes that it helped though she didn't really needed it.

Granted, Aizawa knew that he wasn't anything like Light or L had been. And he wasn't closer to be like Near. But he was a good cop and had learnt to trust his instincts. The woman was too cool to be true. He got the feeling something was wrong. '_All around she's too perfect'_, he thought.

But what bothered him the most was that he wasn't able to figure out her relationship with Near. It'd started with the kiss they'd witnessed. It'd been shocking to see Near act so emotionally but seen her had been a revelation. She had merely tolerated it. At first he thought that maybe she was shy. Eriko didn't like it when he kissed her in public. But if she'd just experienced a close call she would've responded more enthusiastically. And they'd been married for far longer than those two had. Plus if he'd suggested right afterwards that they wouldn't share a bedroom for an indefinite period of time, Eriko would've killed him.

He thought about the last time they'd pursued Kira. Back then their children had been little and there'd been some stress in their relationship because he'd suggested living in L's HQ. After showing up one morning to work with a Band-Aid on his forehead, from a vase she had thrown at him, he'd ended up commuting back home every night. He couldn't blame Eriko. Being a cop's wife isn't easy. He doubted that the fact that B did the same work as Near would change that. Without love, sticking together was almost impossible. You just had to look at the amount of divorced cops that appeared in his employee files. Some of them had been cops married to cops.

He was aware that people stay married for all sorts of reasons, other than love, but he couldn't think of any to explain why those two were together. Something told him that both of them were perfectly capable of working well together after having a divorce.

Part of him wondered if his suspicions had something to do with the fact that B reminded him of a girlfriend who'd ripped out his heart when he was young. The girl had been one of those females that are the embodiment of everything boys fantasy about in their darkened bedrooms. Back then he was just a young man starting in the academy and all he had was ambition and determination. He just couldn't believe his good luck and he used to hold her tightly while they slept, as if he feared she would just vanish in a puff of smoke. Turns out his fears were well justified. She had little patience and very expensive tastes. That was an unfortunate combination and she'd left him for a rich guy.

That would've been bad enough. But the girl had finished her nasty job one Saturday when she'd come knocking on the door of his crummy apartment at one o'clock in the morning. She'd come with a big smile, a small suitcase and a smaller dress. As he was letting her in she'd pointed out through the window and showed him a brand new convertible. She'd said her husband was out of town and she'd come to take him away for the weekend, all expenses covered by the guy's credit card.

At first he'd stood in shock, appalled at the thought that after two years of bedding the slut neither of them had really gotten to know each other. He let a minute of silence go by, remembering the hours he'd wasted picturing the two of them growing old together. Then he'd escorted her out and shut the door on her pretty nose. He'd never thought of himself as someone naïve. He came from a long line of cops and that tends to open your eyes to the nastiness of this world at an early age. But he could pinpoint that as the exact minute when he'd been stripped from the last vestige of innocence he had.

After some soul-searching he'd reached the conclusion that, even though he still remembered the affair with bitterness, it wasn't affecting his judgment. In all frankness it didn't even hurt in the same way it had. The experience had left him with knowledge and up to a point he felt grateful for it. He'd learnt that there comes a time in the life of every man when he feels like twisting someone's neck until the last breath escapes their body. He'd also learnt that he was the sort of man who could bite down the anger and move on with his life without soiling his hands. He saw the episode as part of the rocky road that had taken him to adulthood; as one of his friends loved to say: there are no virgins, life has screwed us all. Plus it'd happened ages ago, before he met Eriko, the pigheaded gal who had thrown a vase at his head to prevent him from missing all the important landmarks in his children's life.

Eriko was a woman who didn't doubt to speak up her mind when she felt she needed to. She was the sort of gal who could pick up her crying husband from the floor in a park, comfort him, drive him home and, ten minutes later, have a half whispered discussion in the kitchen that had ended with her asking: "What can you do? What can you really do, without losing your self respect and without taking the bread away from our children's mouth?"

"Try to help while working for the police."

"Then you do that and stop crying. You're scaring the kids."

Brave Eriko, who a few months later had listened evenly to his voice through the phone saying what could have very well been a goodbye.

"We have him. They are chasing after him and I'm going." He listened to the silence in the other end of the line wondering why the hell he had dialed before he had time to think about it.

"I'll be watching the news and I'll have dinner ready when you come back home." She had answered to his unformulated question hurriedly and then she had hanged up. And he'd known that she hadn't wanted him to listen to the fear in her voice.

His Eriko, who wasn't a girl made of the stuff boys' dreams are. But who was a woman a man could lean on. Wise Eriko, who had embraced him without saying a word and had let him rest his head against her breast whenever he woke up with clenched fists; with the same willingness every single night of that terrible first week, after burying the ashes of his boss' boy right next to his irreproachable father in the guise of a hero, when all the boy had been was a deluded murderer.

"Aren't you going to ask me anything?" He'd asked amazed that his wife hadn't tried to intrude in his pain.

She'd denied kissing his hair: "You'll tell me when you're ready."

Eriko had waited for almost ten years to hear the tale from his lips. He had told her the same night he'd said to her that once more he was going after Kira. They both knew what that meant and, just like the first time, all she had said was that she'd be waiting for him. She had changed since she'd first spoken those words. She had gained a few pounds and had a few wrinkles. But in that instant he felt he wanted her more than he ever had before, and he'd made love to her with a passion he thought was lost to him. She had laughed softly, leaning against his body, and had said that maybe he should take to doing some extreme sport because adrenaline did wonders for him. That had wiped away the last traces of self-doubt he had. After all, he wasn't getting any younger and Kira was a formidable adversary.

It all came down to three words. He loved her. And as if that wasn't enough, she had given him Yumi and Katsuro. His children meant the world to him. He couldn't think of life without his family. They were all that he needed. He was a better man for having them. And he trusted his moral compass. Having kids in cells was wrong, no matter how you rationalized it. Any decent person would've wanted it to end as soon as possible. And B worked hard on the image of being a decent person. Also, his instincts told him that the fact B had started wearing make up meant that, for whatever reason, the perfection façade was harder to keep up. Vague suspicions were all he had, so he kept his mouth shut. But once more he watched B's room on the monitor at the same time he watched the kids pacing up and down their cells.

_**Next on Kira's Kingdom: Scroll 10- Facing the Music II: The game's afoot and now there are three players. How will Light deal with the Shinigami's champion? **_


	10. Facing the Music II

_**AN: Thanks for reviews and for your enthusiasm. I've just bought a new laptop so I'll update more frequently. Some notes, first, I think Marek Černý-Vlcek is Marc Black-Wolf in Czech but I used an on-line translator and I won't vouch for it. On the subject**__** of Mr. Black-Wolf, my beta strongly rebuked the idea of having a 19 year old fall for someone who's middle-aged. I'm not willing to change Marek's back-story, so he has to be at least 39. Hence Black has aged, she's now 23. I've put a second draft label in all chapters that made a reference to her age. Second, my lovely beta also thinks that I've abused antonomasia with all the references I make to Freyja (the Vanir counterpart of Venus, she's a love goddess but not sluttish enough to have lent her name to a word like venereal), Croesus (filthy rich king of Lydia who got screwed by the fickle Lady Fortune), Cerberus (three-headed steroid-pumped pooch who warded Hades' gates and got KO'd by a long-haired lyre player) and Sisyphus (poor bloke condemned for all eternity to roll a boulder up Tartarus' hill, only to have it roll back down every single time). But I think it would be hypocritical to shy away from a few legitimate mythological references after all the offhanded quoting that's been going on in my fic. Third, rahat lokum is also known as Turkish delight. I decided to go with the 'exotic' name because, given Marek's nationality, the other one could be interpreted as a very tacky word play. I don't do coarse humor –on purpose. Fourth, just so you can get an idea of the prices mentioned, on November 29th 2007 one euro bought you 1.48 American dollars. Btw, the overpriced knickers are for real. I've seen them and cried. Finally, there are links in my profile to performances of the music mentioned: Ravel's Tzigane played by Maxim Vengerov; Schubert's Der Tod und das Madchen sang by Regine Crespin; Debussy's La Cathédrale Engloutie performed by Pollini and Ravel's Ondine, the first movement of Gaspard de la Nuit, performed by Perlemuter.**_

**Kira's Kingdom**

**Scroll 10: Facing the Music II**

_**10.1 Tzigane:**_

"_Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,  
Or what's a heaven for?..."  
From the poem Andrea del Sarto by Robert Browning_

"_The supreme happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved - loved for ourselves, or rather, loved in spite of ourselves." Victor Hugo_

_Czech Republic, April 19th 2019; a rogue hangar near Kutná Hora_:

Black was taking a shower and, for the first time in her life, she was singing. She could've sworn she heard the birds tweeting. Granted, it was spring, the sun was going down and she was near a forested area, so there might actually have been some birds singing. But she knew she would've heard them even if she'd been in the middle of the Sahara. And she shouldn't have been happy. Not when her life's mission was going to the dogs.

That Ryuk had proven more stubborn than she'd given him credit for. Even Kira was surprised by his resilience. The Shinigami had been twisting like a pretzel and turning upside-down for a couple of weeks but he hadn't given in. And they needed him to surrender utterly or their plan wouldn't work.

The rest was pretty much in a stalemate and they hadn't been able to get much out of the other Shinigami for there was a risk of being discovered by White's husband. To make it all worst now they were about to be cornered into a position where they would either have to dispose of or try to free the operatives they had inside of the safe house. Either option meant that they would have to reveal their identities and that would mean another lost battle. As for the remaining hidden heirs, Bunny and Clyde, as she'd taken to think of Red and Mac, hadn't been able to find them.

It was all so dreadful, and she didn't give a damn. She was all cheery, laughing at her own bad puns_. 'Bunny and Clyde'_, she giggled. As she rinsed she pictured Red turning into a fluffy, bouncing white cotton ball that hopped all over the place, trying to catch Mac's eye. As for Mac, well, she'd always thought that Clyde sounded like the name of some wretched byproduct of consuetudinary inbreeding. The kind of moron who can barely operate a gas pump and ends up marrying his cousin just like mama did. She giggled again and that sounded so weird coming out of her mouth. She'd never giggled before, not even when she was little.

The reason for her giddiness had a name: Marek Černý-Vlcek. She was drying herself and she paused to roll the name in her tongue as if it were candy. Though plain candy wasn't the way she'd describe him. Maybe a dessert like rahat lokum would fit him better, something rich and spicy with saffron, rosewater or cinnamon. And even that didn't fully capture the essence of the guilty pleasure that was Marek.

'_And exactly how would you describe him?_' asked the harsh voice of reason inside her head.

It wasn't the first time she'd asked herself that question, but as always she failed to come up with an answer that would accommodate both her notions on the subject and reality. The part of her that entertained few illusions and was perhaps a tad too bitter for someone her age wanted to call him sex on legs. The rest of her was just speechless. As usual she ended up acknowledging that lust fell too short to describe what she felt and love was a long stretch. She shrugged inwardly and left it at that. For once, she was willing to experience something without the need for a rational explanation.

And it all had begun as an askew one-night stand. Complete with the infamous walk of shame the next morning, courtesy of sharing living spaces with a meddling ghost. It had started when Black had come home from the library and had run to her brother's bedroom to share with him a joke the librarian had told her. She was halfway through the door when she realized Matthew was dead. Of course rationally she'd been aware of that, but at some level she had refused to acknowledge the fact. That is until the fact turned around and punched her square on the stomach, taking her breath away.

For a while all she could do was look wide-eyed at the stuff in Matthew's room. All was exactly as he'd left it, except for a light cover of dust. She was on the verge of having a panic attack when the ghost had walked on her. He was the last person she wanted to see. He was always so cool; a perfect emotionless bastard who'd left life unsullied by feeling. She'd run out yelling she'd forgotten something.

She flew down the street, focusing on the sound of her clogs on the pebbled pavement. Running to the library gave her a sense of direction. When she reached the Klementinum she hesitated in front of the door. It was nearing closing time but she didn't want to go back home, so she was thinking of going to a coffee shop when she'd noticed a poster announcing a conference about the impact in art of medieval symbols and motifs.

The poster had a print of a skeleton playing the violin, leading a group of fools to their doom. Having just ran away of her own little Danse Macabre, she took it as a good sign. She thought that in the worst case scenario, if the conference turned out to be a bore, at least she would've bought an hour of relative peace and quiet.

The conference hadn't been boring and the lecturer had been a revelation. The man was one of the dying breed of public speakers that manage to make you feel as if they were talking directly to you. She'd never felt such an immediate connection with anyone in her life. She felt curious enough to look for his name in the program. He was obviously using a pseudonym. She raised her eyebrow thinking: '_Who goes around in this day and age calling himself Marc Black-Wolf?'_

The fact that he was incredibly attractive didn't hurt either. He had coppery skin and a closely cropped salt and pepper hair that made his olive green eyes shine like emeralds. His profile was the lost twin of the one that had inspired an Arab verse she liked: sharp as a scimitar. The program said he was 39. The guy hadn't been caught up in the nasty game that obsesses people nowadays, making them want to freeze time in their twenties. He looked his age and was a living ad for the catch phrase that says life starts at 40. She decided he merited a second look. He was a bit thickset but wore a handmade suit that brought out his best and that spoke of exquisite taste and a very healthy bank account. Both of them qualities you seldom find in scholars.

She'd been so caught up in her exploration of the very unlikely tall dark stranger life had handed her on a silver tray that she'd answered what had been an open question by quoting Schubert:

"Death said:  
Give me your hand, you lovely, tender child  
I am your friend and bring no harm.  
Have courage. See, I am not wild.  
You'll sleep softly upon my arm."

He'd recaptured the attention of the audience by opening the lid of the piano, the auditorium sometimes doubled as music hall, and performing the song from which Black had taken the quote, 'Der Tod und das Mädchen'. He sang in a very nice baritone and he didn't play half bad.

Black clacked her tongue in disbelief: '_This is just too good to be true._'

Her first lover had been a pianist. Basilides had also been a sybarite who was majoring in Math and who wouldn't deny himself anything. The sweet angel went through the check his parents sent him for his monthly expenses in a week or so. The guy had supplemented what he called his "partying funds" by playing in small rickety bars for tips. They had met because back then Black had supplemented what she called her "eating funds" by playing the role of cocktail waitress in one of those rickety bars.

One night, while he counted his profits and she swept the sticky floor, they'd been talking about Debussy. Basilides had been ranting about the composer's fondness for unusual scale patterns when out of the blue he'd stated that "Sunken Cathedral" was the ultimate musical masterpiece. She'd been having exams all week and was under the effects of prolonged sleep deprivation, so all she'd say was that the piece was too modern for her. She thought it had so many dissonances that the drunken cathedral would be a better name for the piece. Black had then said that she liked "Reflections in the water" better and that, when it came to musical Impressionism, Ravel had done a better job depicting water with his "Ondine". Basilides pointed out Debussy didn't like to be called impressionist and had thought she was missing the point. He had sat down and played the piece beautifully while paraphrasing the discussion between Debussy and his professor at the Paris Conservatory. He had acted it out, doing voices as if he were reading a story to a little kid.

"So the professor said: I am not saying that what you do isn't beautiful, but it's theoretically absurd," Basilides said in a pompous arse tone, "do you know what Debussy replied?" Then he'd quoted in a passionate tone, filled with disdain: "There is no theory. You have merely to listen. Pleasure is the law!" Basilides had free access to the bar while performing and had punctuated in a somewhat slurred voice: "And you just have to listen to his 'La Cathédrale Engloutie' to understand what he meant. Pleasure as law is not an oversimplification. It applies to music, to math and to life in general. Pain and fear are the greatest evils, and those come from ignorance and narrow-mindedness. Most people live and suffer inside mental prisons they've built for themselves. To use that shitty self-help cliché, you have to learn to think outside the box. The search for pleasure, understood as anything that opens your mind and liberates you from those greatest of evils, is the search for the ultimate good." He finished as the last notes reverberated in the empty bar.

Maybe it had been the way he had played, maybe it had been the sense of urgency she'd been feeling as her date with destiny as Kira's Herald approached, or maybe it had been the lack of sleep, but that last bit of epicurean crap had rung a bell and she'd decided to get it over with the whole virginity issue, right there and then. Basilides was a good sport, his only comment when he'd found out he had trailed uncharted territory was that he should sue her for taking advantage of his bad head for liquor. They had both laughed. She couldn't remember his last name. But she could still conjure up the image of his gentle, strong fingers flying deftly over the keyboard. Caught up in his personal pursue of happiness Basilides was beautiful beyond words. And, ever since, she had a thing for pianists.

After Mister Black-Wolf had finished playing he'd said: "This small musical interlude helps us wake up those of you whom I've managed to lull to sleep and brings us back to the point I was trying to make in the first place. There are some obvious erotic undertones in the Death and the Maiden motif. I mean erotic as in related to Eros. Not necessarily sexual, but with all the wide spectrum of manifestations that winged Greek daimon has. In any case, the motif was supposed to be the opposite. To further exploit the daimon metaphor, we might say that it was supposed to exalt Thanatos. Insert in the theme of the Danse Macabre or Death as the great equalizer, the Death and the Maiden motif was supposed to be a reminder of how ephemeral earthly gifts are and to point out the folly of vanity. But artists of all times have taken it as an opportunity to exalt their ideals of beauty and seductiveness."

Black let out a sharp dry laugh: "And depict some rather crude seduction scenes worthy of gracing the pages of Playboy. Some of them are borderline rape. Besides, why is it that when we think of beauty we think of busty naked females? There are some males that seem to be the embodiment of Beauty and Seductiveness, with capital letters." She licked her lips.

A small smile played on his mouth: "Are those Platonic uppercases? You have to be careful when handling those wretched universals. As you grow up you'll find out all you are left with after the shipwreck that is life, are some ideas, all of them in lower cases and, if you're lucky, a few of them will be worth fighting for. I'd rather leave Plato out of it altogether. But I guess I had it coming by introducing dualisms into the discussion. To answer your question, artists represented beauty as female, first, because they were somehow constricted by the Maiden part in the name of the motif. And second, because, as the title of the conference implies, this was a medieval motif and medieval times weren't tolerant of alternative lifestyles. That's also the reason why Death ended up taking the role of the male, which seemed to fit the bill of seducer better, though in all fairness in most representations no gender is discernible. But up to a point I agree with Ms…" Black wasn't wearing a nametag or a ring and she'd remained silent. After a small pause he'd continued: "save for Greeks and Romans most western cultures think beauty is a feminine virtue, if it's viewed as a virtue at all. Even before it was put in black and white on the bible, beauty has been viewed as a double-edged sword; something that, when not paired with more spiritual qualities, eventually leads to destruction. And since it doesn't endure, it's what we call a cheap thrill, though some seem to think it's worth it."

His smile had a lupine quality to it. Time stopped when those inviting green eyes looked at her. When the clock started ticking once more she realized everyone was looking at her.

'_Am I flirting with a complete stranger who's old enough to be my father in front of half a dozen people I have to see daily?_' She went beetroot. Afterwards she'd remained silent and tried to make a clean get away when the conference ended.

He hadn't let her, he'd caught up with her and she'd stood in front of him as a deer caught in the front lights of a truck. She didn't know exactly how it'd happened but she'd agreed to continue their chat over a cup of coffee. Well, she hadn't actually agreed to anything, but she hadn't been able to say no either. She'd tried to refuse but her voice had failed her. Then her legs had started walking besides him as if on their own accord.

He took her to Rossini, her favorite Italian café on Chopinova Street, which was also a favorite of his. By the time they'd reached the restaurant she'd worked up the courage to lie to the man and say she'd just remembered a prior appointment. Then her body had betrayed her once more and her stomach had started growling. Coffee had become dinner. She'd always loved Mario's cooking but that night she'd swallowed down everything the café owner served her without tasting it. She had even let Marek order a cup of Chianti for her. And she never drank wine!

The man made her nervous. That was really odd. From the time she'd turned 16 she'd had all sorts of crappy jobs and had been exposed to about every type of the male species, including some that were far more insistent than Mr. Černý-Vlcek. She'd also had her fair share of handsome and she'd seldom felt impressed by then. She'd been raised by two men who were anything but easy to handle. Her father had been so frail that she was constantly afraid of breathing near him in case she might break him and Matthew had been prone to these terrifying bouts of rage that left everyone around him trembling with fear. Almost before walking she'd learnt to treat men as the little boys they become whenever they fall prey to their inner demons. Plus she had dealt on a daily basis from age 14 with Kira, one of the most manipulative men that had roamed this earth. And she'd held her ground pretty damn fine until then, so she couldn't figure out why she wasn't able of thinking straight in Marek's presence.

She was lost in thought when the waiter came back with the check on a tray and she realized she'd left her wallet back home. She was wishing for earth to open under her feet and swallow her, sparing her the shame of being dragged away to wash dishes, when Mr. Černý-Vlcek picked up the tab. It came to 37.13 euros and all he'd had was a cup of red wine and an espresso. Now she owed the man 29.76.

Having had little of it most of her life she was very sensitive with matters relating to money. She began saying that she intended to pay her share. Marek shrugged it off saying he was old school and that he wasn't used to letting a lady pay when he had invited her.

Black had been looking down at the floor and when she looked back up she'd noticed a man and a woman entering the café. She could bet that the woman's red hair came right out of a bottle. The slag had hungry eyes and clung to the old geezer's arm with predatory skill. She took off her tan sable coat with one slow sinewy motion. Underneath the expensive fur coat, the woman was clad in a tawdry get up that made her look as if the guy had taken her right out of one of the strip joints that crowded the nearby Wenceslas square. The old Croesus was blind drunk and had all the telling signs of a _nouveau riche_ mobster. He brandished a fat roll of bills in his pudgy fingers and insisted in a loud voice that he would take nothing but the best table to dine with his lady friend. Black had felt like gagging. She had looked at Marek's green eyes and had insisted on repaying him as soon as she could get her wallet.

After a few awkward minutes Marek had said that was fine and wrote down his hotel address on the back of one of his business cards. Black had stared at the card for a couple of minutes without speaking. The silence was beginning to get uncomfortable when he'd said that for a while he was afraid he'd have to sleep on the street. But that an old friend had managed to find him a room, a crow fly away from Charles Bridge. He smiled innocently while he delivered his speech. Black looked at the card again and let the fact that the man was staying in one of the most exclusive hotels of the city sunk in.

The Black Wolf had set up his temporal lair at the Alchymist Grand Hotel & Spa. That was a boutique 5 stars which was usually booked months in advance. She knew because she'd been saving the 200 euros needed for a package called Ecsotica Mild Reverie, which included a coconut body scrub, milk and rose petals bath and a Balinese massage. It would be a reward, after she killed Kira's enemies. She wanted to feel something nice on her skin for a change. There were cheaper ways of achieving the same but she just didn't feel like paying the pound of flesh. She'd had enough with people touching her with ulterior motives. She wanted to spend a whole weekend alone to be able to relax, but the effing one and a half hour treatment was all she could afford. She couldn't help wondering exactly with whom was Mr. Black-Wolf friendly with that could get him a room in that hotel in such a short notice.

They took their separate ways and he probably left thinking he was never going to hear from her again. She could have mailed the money. But she went straight home, grabbed her wallet and made her way towards the Alchymist Grand Hotel.

She regretted her decision almost as soon as she set foot in the hotel. The place was decorated in red and gold 16th century splendor, complete with an imposing marble staircase the likes of which she'd only seen in the movies. She was painfully aware of how out of place she was with her worn-out baggy jeans and her high-neck black tank top. She thought bitterly that White would've probably felt right at home in that place. Biting down her spite she tried to convince herself that she found the décor incredibly campy.

The sourpuss Cerberus that warded the gates didn't help her warm up to the place. The concierge had phoned Marek and told him a lady was waiting for him at the lobby. He'd shrugged his nose as if something smelled funny and he'd used a certain inflection when he said the word lady that had made Black want to pummel his face to a pulp.

She had to wait for a while 'til she finally saw Marek coming down the staircase with wet hair and a big smile. He immediately asked for forgiveness for making her wait but said she had caught him in the middle of taking a bath. He said something else but she wasn't able to make out what. Her brain was caught in a loop of images of Mr. Black-Wolf soaking naked in a bathtub. Then Marek had stared pointedly at her. It was obvious that whatever he'd said required her to answer. She blushed intently and managed to bite her tongue just before she could blurt out that she wasn't thinking about him being naked, which was the best way to let him know that was exactly what she'd been doing.

After standing for several minutes in an uncomfortable silence she found out that focusing her life on bringing about a Utopia had left her with very poor social skills. _'Blimey! All those blows to the head must have caused some brain damage.'_ The only thing she could think of to fill in the void was taking out her wallet and shoving 30 euros in Marek's hand. Then she had stood frozen like a salt statue.

Mr. Black-Wolf looked confused from the bills in his hand to the girl in front of him. And then he'd said: "I'm afraid I don't remember how much your share came to… Do I owe you some change?"

She was so used to counting pennies that her response had been automatic: "It was 29.76, 30 minus 29.76… That's 24 cents."

Then she realized that implied she wanted the change back. She contemplated with horror another five minutes of waiting under the concierge's disdainful gaze. A quick sideways glance towards Cerberus confirmed her worst fears. The concierge was spying on them from the front-desk. Black thought that all the blasted man could've seen was some money changing hands. He'd probably also heard her loud response. It was obvious from Cerberus' face that he was wondering what kind of services had been exchanged for such fair.

Was she willing to put up with all that for 24 cents? Not even she was that cheap. Never since she'd became Kira's Herald had she felt so inadequate and mortified. She didn't care for the feeling. She turned around to tell Marek to forget about it but Mr. Black-Wolf was fast and was already at the top of the staircase.

She took a deep breath and ran after him. She finally caught up with Marek in front of his room. She'd tried hard to catch her breath and said before he could interrupt her: "You got it all wrong. I don't want the change. I just came to repay you. I didn't want you to think I was taking advantage of you. I wasn't raised like that."

That's when the door swung open and she realized that Mr. Black-Wolf wasn't staying in a mere room. It was a suite, a 900 square feet monstrosity with a terrace, a canopied bed, glass chandeliers, two plasma TVs and, peeking out from behind a door, an iron and porcelain tub on top of a marble checkered floor. In the face of that, her little discourse sounded quite stupid. She looked through the door with a sensation very close to vertigo.

"Are you feeling ok? I think that maybe you should come in and sit. You don't look so well."

That was definitely not the way she'd pictured him inviting her to his room. '_Of course I'm not well. I must be insane,'_ she thought nearing hysteria, '_I've managed to make the most gorgeous man I've met in ages talk to me as an old aunt would, and I'm having an argument with a man who can afford this room about 24 effing cents.'_

It was all too much, she couldn't help it. She started shacking with laughter. Marek misinterpreted the gesture and thought she was crying.

"There, there, I didn't think you were trying to take advantage of me. But your honesty is quite refreshing, it credits your parents. I'm sure they are proud of you."

That'd hit another button and then she'd started crying for real. Big drops ran down her cheeks leaving dirty trails of mascara behind them. The man had looked at her as if wondering how far away he could throw her.

She swore: "Cor!"

That startled the poor bloke who was probably wondering if she was mentally deficient.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what's come over me. I won't bother you further." Then she turned around and started walking towards the staircase.

He'd grabbed her arm and said: "You can't leave. Not in the state you're in right now. You can stay until you've calmed yourself. Come in; feel free to use the bathroom. Then we can go to the hotel's canteen for some tea, that'll do the trick"

"No!" She didn't let the informal name fool her, given what she'd seen of the hotel the _canteen_ was probably a posh stand-in restaurant, something she couldn't face even if she had been in better shape.

"Alright, so we won't go to the canteen, then you can come in and we'll order room service. Please believe me, you're perfectly safe."

'_That sounds about right. The man thinks I'm mental. Is clear he won't touch me. Probably fears I'm contagious_.' She sighed: "I don't want to be more of a nuisance than I've already had. And I have to go home, it's getting late."

"As I've already told you, I'm old fashioned. Who am I kidding? For someone your age I'm plain old. Won't you humor me and allow me to pay for a cab when you're actually ready to go home?"

He was smiling and he didn't look old, not at all. With a little pang of regret she had let the man fuss over her like a mother hen would. That night had been a revelation, it redefined the way Black understood the term intimacy.

They had drunk two samovars of a marvelous Turkish apple tea, elma çayı, in delicate tulip glass cups while they'd talked. At first she had been the one doing the talking. The man was as good a listener as he was an orator. When her catharsis was over, she had coerced him to talk about himself.

He'd told Black about his best friend, a chef who was Turk, just like him. He was the one who'd helped him get the room. Mr. Black-Wolf spoke highly of his friend: "Remember what I said in the conference about life's shipwreck leaving you with nothing but a couple of ideas? If on top of that you manage to preserve a couple of loyalties of the sort that stick with you when things take a turn for worst, then you're truly blessed."

Marek called the chef his brother in arms, laughing while he quoted Shakespeare's Henry V:  
"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.  
For he today that sheds his blood with me  
Shall be my brother."

Then his laughter had died out and he'd told her about his days in the army fighting the PKK.

Marek's family came from a town right in the border with Syria. His father had been born a Syriac Orthodox. In a country where most people were Muslims his family was an oddity. They went to live in Southeast Turkey in a time when peasant women still beat up their faces and messed their hairs at burials. Marek's grandpa had known they wouldn't be accepted and had responded making their differences more noticeable by becoming a zealot. Marek's dad had hated that. As soon as he could he moved out to Istanbul, lost his eastern accent and, in a desperate effort to fit in, had embraced the 70's Turkish secularisms and _modernization_ spirit. In the end what this meant was the he'd substituted Marek's grandpa religious sectarianisms by becoming a fanatical patriot.

Marek's dad had joined the military, first, because it was almost his only chance for social betterment, and second, because he saw the PKK's separatism as a personal affront. He had fought in the 80's and the 90's and he expected his sons to do the same. Marek's brother, Mr. Black-Wolf joked, had been smarter and had emigrated to France as soon as he could save up enough for the train ticket. He, on the other hand, after a lifetime of listening to his dad's poisonous discourse, had quitted college and joined the army as a volunteer in the 2000's.

He'd told her all that his dad had forgotten to tell him about the conflict. All he had ended up witnessing first hand ten years later. He told how it all had been the same. Not only the same his father had seen in the 80's and 90's, but it was also the same his grandfather had seen back in the 60's and 70's. And, if the dices rolled once more, it could be the same his son, if he'd had the guts of throwing one to the world, could see. Marek'd had a chance to witness both sides' brutality and came to realize that stupidity and cruelty make all men equal, regardless of time, place or allegiance.

He'd said he'd quitted the army, moved out and busted his ass to get the history degree he'd left unfinished. He had first stayed at Paris, where his brother lived. His excuse for going there was that the University was better there, but in reality he had been trying to put some distance between him and his father's disappointment.

After what felt like a coward's retreat, he had something to prove. He put on the historian mantle and tried hard to understand what makes the clock tick. He kept trying until he got a PhD, but he felt that he wasn't closer to the truth than when he began. That's when he had turned to his other passion, pursued a career in art history and devoted his life to deciphering signs and symbols of beauty which actually made sense to him. Still, and even though he made a nice living out of it, it sometimes felt like a defeat. According to his father he had a penchant for choosing the road most likely to take him to failure.

In Paris he'd met the woman who would become his wife, a Czech girl who was studying medicine. What had drawn them together had been what drove them apart in the end. They both were strangers in a foreign land where they just didn't finish fitting in. They both felt homesick but didn't have a home to go back to. Perhaps she was stronger than he was, because she'd managed to move on with her life and built a home for herself. He had been unable to forgive or forget. When she'd asked him to do that, he had told her he couldn't. She had left him and gone back to Prague saying that he would be welcomed if he wanted to follow her. She had been offered a job. He was caught in the middle of his doctoral dissertation, which had turned into a Sisyphean task. He couldn't see the end of it and felt incredibly bitter. He'd told her that she shouldn't hold her breath.

The last time he'd heard from her was when she'd called asking him to sign the divorce papers. She'd said she was getting married. They'd been separated for over three years and had barely spoken during that time, but it had hurt him. He had fantasized about crashing the wedding and doing a scene from Othello –'Look to her, if thou hast eyes to see: She has deceived her first husband, and may thee.'- He laughed goodheartedly saying that the only thing that had stopped him from going and making an ass out of himself was that he was penniless and that the chef, good friend he was, had refused to lend him the money, even after threatening him with physical violence. It took Marek a while but now he felt happy his ex-wife had found what she was looking for in the arms of a man who hadn't denied her the children she wanted.

If there's a god, he has a dark sense of humor, Marek said. After their marriage was over, he'd been offered a job in the Univerzita Karlova, a few blocks away from where his ex-wife lived. He had turned to the chef for advice. His best friend had told him a shinny bit of sharp truth that had cut right through his resistance: Prague was as good as any other place.

The chef had pleaded his case most convincingly. He said that, as is the case with many of those broken by war, they had lost their past and didn't trust the future. They couldn't go back and were too darn stubborn to bury the hatchet. They didn't fit anywhere and that's why they could go wherever it pleased them. Marek liked the way that sounded. It make him feel lighter, a true free spirit. He said that perhaps his mother's Greek blood was to blame for his libertarian romanticism.

The chef's phrase had been the reason why he'd lived in a rental for the past two years. The building was falling to pieces, literally. A big chunk of the balustrade had fallen over some poor woman's head. The administrators got sued and now all the neighbors had been asked to leave. He was staying at the hotel until he found his own place.

Then Black had asked him about the pseudonym and he'd said that surely he had bored her enough with his life story. She had denied and he'd told her that he suffered from seasonal depression and when he was younger he'd stubbornly refused to take medication for it. During one of the low points of his disease he had penned a paper about modern day symbolical sacred cows and how they reflect the values of a decadent society.

In the midst of a very dark mood he'd acted like a crazed Don Quixote and had gone after the windmills. Preaching like a raving lunatic against consumerism, vital apathy disguised as cheerfulness and, in short, all which privileges form above substance in a society so obsessed with appearance that could readily accept oxymora like the phrase reality TV. He hadn't dared sign the article with his own name and had decide he'd use as first name Mark, for the evangelist that had started his tale with John the Baptist crying out in the desert. For a surname he'd use the insult his dad had thrown at him during one of the rare phone conversation they had. Under the influx of a bad moon the pseudonym had sounded as irony when at best it was nothing more than a wisecrack.

The pamphlet had been a success among certain circles. An entrepreneuring reporter had unearthed his real identity. To his amazement the University he worked for saw the publicity as a blessing in disguise and now, in order to keep his chair, he was condemned to dictating conferences and penning more horrors under the umbrella of an assumed name.

Then he'd offered to tell her his real name but since Black wasn't willing to tell him hers she thought it wouldn't be fair. Instead she had told him things that she hadn't told to another living soul. She told him about her dreams of ending her life in a small cottage right by the cliffs where she'd been born, with nothing to disturb her peace but the seagulls. She told him about her mom, her dad and Matthew. She'd also told him the story of her life, brief as it was. Well, an edited version of it. But the feelings were real, and the burden of her dead family seemed lighter after sharing it with someone who was willing to listen.

It got so late that it wasn't safe for her to go home, not even in a cab. Marek had insisted on her staying. He'd also insisted on sleeping in the couch. For a minute there she'd thought of suggesting they shared the bed, but she felt shy. The way they'd been pouring their guts to each other had been more intimate than sex. She felt naked and needed to put some distance between them before she began having idiotic ideas, like how badly she wanted to see him again.

She'd said she was taking the couch because he was almost a feet taller than her. He tried to protest and she'd ended the argument saying age should go before beauty. He'd grabbed at his chest as if she had plunged a knife in it and with a sad smile had given in.

She woke up the next day at the break of dawn. Marek looked so cute when he was asleep that she couldn't resist the temptation of stealing a kiss. He moved in his sleep but didn't wake up and she left without saying goodbye. She ignored the knowing look on the concierge's face as he saw her pass by.

She walked back home through the deserted streets with the odd feeling she had left something important behind. She ordered herself to stop being stupid. She reached her door and entered trying hard not to make a sound, but the Ghost didn't need to sleep and had been waiting for her.

The Ghost had thrown veiled accusations at her until she'd lost her patience and said she didn't owe him an explanation.

"You're not my father."

"I know. No child of mine would behave like a whore."

"You are a bloody hypocrite. After fucking that Misa girl you've got not right to judge me. I won't take moral lessons from someone who's willing to use sexual favors as coinage. Save your preaching for White, I'm sure she'll listen to you with undivided attention."

"So that's what this is all about. Do you feel neglected?"

"Hell yeah! That's how I lose my sleep, thinking of ways of becoming the teacher's pet. If anyone is jealous here, that's you."

"Of whatever imbecile you've lured to a quick roll in the hay? Don't make me laugh, girl. You're delusional!" He laughed in the cruel derisive way of his that seemed to propel him miles above the rest of the world.

Black snorted ready to burst that conceited air balloon: "I know you don't feel that way about me. But you're jealous. You're jealous because you're dead and I'm not! I think you were half dead even before that Shinigami wrote your name in his Note. I have a life. Deal with it! Part of it is private and I want to keep it that way."

"What do you think this is? This is not a 9 to 5 job. This is not something that can wait until you are done mourning your precious family. Kira demands a total commitment. Your life is inconsequential in face of what could mean the end of all suffering for the whole world. If you can't understand that, then I fear that I've overestimated you."

"How can you question my commitment to Kira's cause, after what I've been willing to do for it? I killed my brother for you, you bastard!"

He'd cornered her against the wall, using his height to intimidate her: "Get this inside that thick skull of yours. You didn't kill your brother. I didn't kill him either, just as I didn't kill my father or sent my sister to the nut house. They were casualties. Smart soldiers don't go around carrying corpses. If they want to win they leave them behind. You still want to win, don't you?"

Not a very subtle way of reminding her he'd had his losses too. So all she could do was answer him by whispering an unconvinced: "Yes."

She was going to add that didn't mean she was willing to lay her life in the altar of his whims, when Mac cleared his throat behind them.

He looked as if he'd come right out of bed. Since becoming a DN owner he'd been staying in what had been the antique shop's office. Black had refused to let him use Matthew's room, she didn't want to make him feel welcomed and the Ghost had agreed. It hadn't worked, Mac had a thick hide. Plus it'd only taken him a couple of days to accept the big boss' true nature after which he felt right at home.

"Man, you're loud. Some of us are trying to sleep here, ya know?"

Before Kira could dismiss him with a sour remark the doorbell rang.

Red came out of her room wearing a blue flannel pajama and white kitten slippers. She walked down the stairs and said: "I don't wanna interrupt, but there's someone at the door. He says he has a package for Miss Stíny. He looks the part of delivery boy, but I dunno…it's six a.m."

Stíny was Black's alias. She and Light looked at each other. Six a.m. was too early for anything to be delivered for the store. Without a word Black took out her knife from the pedestal desk in the hall and placed herself on the right side of the door, leaving some room for it to open. Mac took out his gun from the back of his pants and placed himself on the left side. Red breathed in, opened the door cautiously and prepared herself to duck.

The guy was legit. Inside the box all they'd found was a bouquet of white lilies of the valley, blue forget-me-nots and purple dendrobium orchids, tied up with linden tree branches. There was also an envelope with her driver license and a postcard of Alphonse Mucha's 'Dawn', a golden Art Nouveau lady caught in the rays of the rising sun. Mac took it from Red's hand and read out loud a fragment of a poem by Mihai Eminescu:

"While softly rings  
the evening's cool wind,  
above me the holy lime  
shakes its branch."

Mac continued reading, holding the note out of Black's reach: "Has my mind played a trick on me or did I really felt you leave with a goodbye kiss? I wouldn't want to intrude in a part of your life is obvious you aren't willing to share. But you left your driver license. First your wallet and now this has given me prove that you are forgetful. After a memorable night I wanted to give you something to help you remember me by. The forget-me-nots need no explanation. I've added orchids whose name means tree of life in Greek for you've made an old oak rebirth. Some branches from a Norse love goddess, Freyja's holy lime. And for a final touch lilies of the valley, for their scent on you was the first thing I noticed when I met you. Did you know those mean the return to happiness in the Victorian language of flowers? They're also known as Eve's tears. Some legends tell they sprung from the ones she shed when she was expelled from Paradise. That should have given me fair warning, happiness is usually followed by tears. I woke up to find all you've left behind were traces of your perfume. There are no strings attached but I would like to see you again. You know where to find me and it's the lady's privilege to refuse." Mac looked awestruck: "There's no signature but I bet you know who sent it," and then cried out: "Holy Crap! What did you do for the man?"

Red took the postcard from Mac's hand, looked at painting with narrowed eyes. Giggling softly she had murmured: "Uh, naked lady," then she'd started sniggering and said: "You slut!"

"Shut up! How old are you two again? Five?" Black said.

Mac was getting ready to come back with a snappy retort when Kira stopped him with a hand motion. The Ghost never raised his voice when he was truly angry, so when he said: "Go," in a tone barely above a whisper, Mac and Red obeyed immediately. They left after leaving Marek's gifts on the desk.

Light lifted Black's jacket from the coat rack and sniffed a sleeve: "He must have a keen nose. I can't smell anything." He examined the postcard: "One of Mucha's best." He turned the card around: "Nice penmanship." Then he'd rubbed an orchid's petal between his fingertips. When he talked facing Black his voice was smooth as silk: "I'm sure the poem is not his. It's a good choice, though. The imagery is a bit forced but it works. It evokes the girl stealing a kiss from her sleeping lover. As for the flower arrangement, what can I say? My likes and dislikes on that subject are influenced by a different cultural sensibility. The bouquet is as good as could be expected, from a gaikokujin. It has a pleasing color combination, though it overuses blue. And the composition is a bit naïf. All around it's a fine attempt, but the lilies of the valley are a false note. That's explained by the scent you spray yourself with. Perhaps he enjoys the simplicity of it. A trip downtown as they say. For the looks of it he could afford a better fragrance, if he wanted to. The fact that the gift has to be explained is another false note. I think he's trying too hard to impress you. Or maybe you haven't known him long enough for him to be aware of how good your deduction abilities are. But casual lovers don't leave morning after gifts, not like this at any rate. You've gotten yourself quite a catch. Who is this old oak that sprouts flowers for you?"

She took the bouquet away from him and held it close to her, shielding it from his eyes. Black thought that the Ghost was a mean motherfucker who was sure able to convey so many layers of insult behind words that were superficially praiseful. And the way he could disguise what was a third degree questioning behind that conversational tone must had been really useful when he was a copper. At some other time, she might have admired all that, but she wasn't going to let him rain on her parade.

"None of your bloody business, that's who he is. I've already agreed that Kira's cause requires commitment. Maybe you have some reason to complain about my recent performance but I'm doing my best. If that's not enough, say it. And as long as I deliver, I want you to keep your nose out of my personal affairs. While at it, stop going through my stuff trying to sniff my perfume. That way we won't risk the smell offending your exquisite sensibility. Before you say anything else, riddle me this, since you're so smart: If human average walking speed is 3 miles per hour and the train station is less than two miles away. How long will it take me to get the hell out of here, considering I can have my bags packed in about twenty minutes?"

She could hear him grinding his immaterial teeth before he said as he left: "If you have any appreciation for the man, make sure he doesn't become my business. And while you're at it, you might find some time to work on delivering something other than failure."

She rested her back against the wall and sighed in relief. She had been bluffing. She had nowhere else to go. And the Ghost had gravely miscalculated the situation. Left on her own she would've never seen Marek again, but Kira had gone and made it a challenge, one that she couldn't resist.

And challenging it had been. Through out their time together, to Black's chagrin, Marek had behaved like the perfect gentleman. They had gone out several times for lunch and dinner. They had done the city's museums tour. They had gone to a couple of plays and a really boring B&W movie they had quitted half-way through. But besides holding her hand and giving her a few kisses, most of them close-lipped, he hadn't tried anything. Even though, to the best of her abilities, she had made it plain clear that she wasn't going to refuse his advances.

She really enjoyed their long talks but she wasn't much for patience so one day she'd decided to take the initiative. She wasn't much for subtlety either; she had taken advantage of an unwarned moment and had assaulted the man.

She had gone to pick him up to the hotel for one of their outings. She thought that it was best if he stayed clear from the Ghost's path. As usual he'd said hello with a light peck. Black had deepened the kiss and hadn't let go. Then, before he could back away, she'd moved right for the kill. At first Marek seemed surprised but then he'd just rolled with the punches. Finally, Mr. Black Wolf showed her he had some red blood flowing through his veins. He began kissing and touching her all over and Black let out an enthusiastic gasp.

They were half undressed and she had just begun unzipping his pants when he'd taken off her hands and muttered and strangled: "No."

Black moaned in frustration. She'd wanted to threat him with death if he dared stop. Instead she'd said: "You can't be serious!"

But he was serious, dead serious. He made her remain sited on the bed while he regained his composure sitting on a chair. When she'd finally mastered her anger enough to get up and start looking for her knickers, he'd looked at her startled.

She'd laughed derisively: "I wasn't going to attack you. I know no means no."

Without another word Black began getting dress. She was ready to leave and never look back when he'd pulled her close to him, making her sit on his lap. He'd embraced her so tightly she had to breathe through her mouth between kisses.

"If you have doubts about my willingness, I hope this clarifies the issue for you." He'd mouthed the words next to her cheek.

Being so close she could feel just how willing he was. So she'd hit him playfully on the chest: "Then why on earth did you made me stop, you arsehole?"

He had explained while putting some distance between them. He'd said that after his wife had left him he'd gone through a rough patch. For a couple of years he'd woken up almost every morning next to women whose names he couldn't remember. After a while he'd grown weary of sharing a bed with strangers who never got past the skin. But he quickly found out that women who are looking for something other than casual ask for things he couldn't give them. He'd made himself the promise not to start something he couldn't finish and had been leading the life of a monk when he'd met her. He wanted their first time together to be special. Black felt such tenderness for the man that it frightened her.

"I'm not exactly a blushing violet. And I'm not asking for anything. I have some inescapable obligations."

He'd let her go saying: "Allah kahretsin! Are you married? That would explain a lot."

"I don't speak Turkish so this is a guess: I think that's the first time I hear you curse," she'd laughed and enjoyed seeing him twist for a while, then she'd said: "No, I'm not married. I'm as single as can be. But things back home are, well, complicated. It's hard to explain."

"One of this days I hope you'll trust me enough to tell me." He'd said caressing the scars on her legs.

They had talked it over at dinner and they had agreed that they would wait. Finally last week they had both thought the time was right. They were going on Easter's long weekend to visit the Sedlec Ossuary. A quaint little chapel in the outskirts of Kutná Hora decorated with approximately 40,000 human bones. She was especially interested in the chandelier and the skull-made monstrance.

Since she had to go check on her plane and the Shinigami, she'd told Marek they would meet at the church. After the visit they would eat lunch and go back to Marek's hotel where they would have the spa treatment Black had dreamed of. Then she was going to stay with him 'til Monday.

She had intended to share the expenses but Marek had asked if she was trying to offend him. She'd been saving up for the big day, so she'd found herself with some unexpected money. She already had a nice little black dress she'd bought for a New Year's celebration that just didn't happened. So she decided to buy some sexy underwear to go with it.

She had tried going to a cute store a block away from home. She'd left without buying anything after two minutes of suffering the half-brained innuendo coming out from the mouth of the girly behind the counter. Then she'd tried her luck in a big mall. But there she'd been faced with a stuck up arsehole that thought she was brainless for not knowing the difference between French and guipure lace. That beastly woman had told Black that she couldn't help her if she didn't know what she was looking for. Whatever happened to the customer is always right? And how was she supposed to know when all her experience with fancy underwear had been limited to sneak peaks of her brother's dirty magazines? She was about to give up and just go with some off-the-rack knickers when she'd remembered that Red had tried to slip past her a note from this underwear store called Agent Provocateur. She'd unearthed the piece of paper from her drawer and found the web's address.

The page was a lingerie fetishist's fantasy land. After browsing through a lot of crap she finally decided to go for a wireless boned black low-cut bra with a frilly ribbon trim and tie side French cut panties with big bows on the hips. She wasn't going to be able to wear pantyhose with those bows so she considered buying stockings and a garter belt but felt that would be pushing the envelope. As an after thought she'd added to the list a thigh high black flowery French lace kimono with a satin sash. Spring mornings were a bit cool and she didn't want to catch a cold. It came to 729 euros plus expenses if she wanted to have it delivered home. She'd almost logged out thinking that she wasn't mad enough to pay that for a few pieces of sheer cloth. But in the end she'd wanted to feel special and had coughed up the money.

The package arrived while she was out, she came back home to find Red and Mac pawing their way through the black silk in the dinning room.

"Are you sure these are undies? They are so small. And how the hell are you supposed to wear them?" asked Red while inspecting the tie side panties.

Mac told Red to hold them with her hands while he tied the bows: "See, luv, you tie them like this. Making bows, then it's just like Christmas morning." He pulled one end with two fingers, untying them and laughed: "Surprise, surprise."

Red guffawed: "Wow! That's nasty."

After having bought the underwear Black had told Marek she had a surprise present for him, complete with ribbons. Now Red and Mac were unknowingly making fun of her fantasy. She'd hated them for turning it into something dirty.

"Get your paws off my knickers!"

She yelled opening the door. She entered just in time to see the Ghost as he took the package away from Red and Mac ordering them to leave. He'd looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"I assume this is yours." He said dropping the box on the credenza.

"Yes it's mine. Blimey! I guess this is as good a time as any to tell you. I won't be around on the weekend."

She'd expected him to make a smartass remark or even try to forbid her going. He'd just shrugged and said with a mean smile: "What can I say? Have fun, perhaps?"

She picked up her things and thought that she was going to have fun, in spite of all of them. When Friday arrived she'd packed up her bags and decided she would change her clothes in the hangar. She didn't think she could stomach their speculative staring.

While she was getting ready she heard a noise. She thought it might be a cat but it's better to be safe than sorry so she took out her knife, put on her coat and went out to have a look.

Someone tried to pass a sack over her head while someone else tried to immobilize her arms. She twisted away and freed herself. She hit the face of brute 1 with the sole of her hand. Thinking that would teach the stupid not to stand in front of his victims. Then she'd managed to connect a kick on the other while she ducked. She smiled wickedly as she heard the guy moan, she had hit somewhere soft. Keeping her back to the wall, and slashing the air with her knife she began to take off the sack but the brutes had brought a stun gun.

"Do it now! Before she sees us!" cried brute 1 in a Czech accent.

"I'm trying! She's a fucking hellcat!" said brute 2 with a broken Bulgarian accent as he shoved the weapon in her belly.

They don't call them stun guns for nothing. They can drop you even if you aren't a 5 feet 1, 100 lb girl. As she fell twitching to the ground the third brute delivered the coup de grâce. This one she knew, or at least she had thought she knew.

"Don't hurt her!" He ordered in his perfect English.

Black wanted to laugh and cry at the same time thinking: '_Too late, bastard. Too late_.'

"You've heard the boss." said Czech brute as he tied her down.

"You didn't got kicked in the nuts." protested Bulgarian brute as he put a chloroform-soaked rag on her mouth.

But Black didn't need the confirmation. All the pieces of the puzzle had fallen in place as soon as she'd heard Marek's voice. As she passed out she thought with bitterness: '_If it looks too good to be true, it probably is._'

_**Next on Kira's Kingdom: Scroll 11: By any other name. Having lost his precious weapon and being attacked from two fronts, can Kira turn the tables, defeat his foes and make a grab for the crown?**_


	11. By Any Other Name

_**AN: Nix, Red thinks you are also exaggerating with the rating issu**__**es you brought to our attention. I tend to agree with him, especially because there aren't a lot of people reading my fic. And 'cause nothing seen here is worst than what you can see on the evening news or in the source material –btw, DN has an OT rating so I find it incredibly amusing to see DN fanfics rated K. It's a bit like the 10 page versions of the Ramayana and Don Quixote my mom use to buy for me when I was little. But, since I do want to keep posting my stuff here, let me address those issues. First of all, there's nothing more subjective than ratings, I've seen movies rated R in the US which are rated 16 plus in Canada, -12 in France and B (13 plus) in my country. This is an international site and I can't be expected to accommodate everyone's sensibilities. I can only go by what I know. Second, as if the inherent subjectivity of ratings wasn't enough to confuse anyone, I was raised within the walls of a very liberal household in a very conservative town. So I'm not fine-tuned to the nuances of what is socially acceptable. My first instinct was to go safe and rate MA. I reread the guidelines and, once more, found them incredibly unhelpful. I've got a lot of questions about them, but the one which comes highest on the list is: Leaving out what is generally understood as graphic sex and violence, what the hell does adult theme mean? To be more specific, which those guidelines sure aren't, I can't come up with a single example of a situation that can be handled by an 18 year old and that simultaneously can't be handled by someone who's over 16. Does your outlook of life change so radically in a couple of years? Do you suddenly sprout a different consciousness as soon as you cross some imaginary age threshold? Or is "adult theme" a euphemism for pornography? I think that is the case because the site doesn't allow an MA rating. In my fics I address what I feel are adult themes from politics to religion, including relationships and my pov on the pitfalls and highlights of human nature. Still, when sex appears it is because I'm aiming for realism (yeah even in a supernatural story) and sex is a part of life, but graphic sex scenes are well out of my scope. Further more, all the aggression depicted in my fics is heavily contextualized, so I don't do violence either. I guess that means I'm sticking to the M rating and I'll keep posting here. Oh, and with the "apple of the people's eyes" I'm paraphrasing what Necmettin Erbakan, Turkey's Prime Minister in 1997, said about the Turkish army, which is the second largest of NATO.**_

**Kira's Kingdom**

**Scroll 11: By Any Other Name**

_**11.1: The Decision**_

"_Life is the decision, death is decided"  
From E nomine's song 'Die Entscheidung'_

_Czech Republic, April 19th 2019; a rogue hangar near Kutná Hora_:

Ryuk had seen it all. He had seen Light's girl fight. He had seen her captors' faces, and, even more importantly, their names. He had watched it all with his eyes blazing, first blue and then red as carbuncles.

He had seen the man the others called boss and he'd seen the shadow that hovered besides him. A shadow that could only belong to a Shinigami who was inside a shield of darkness like the one the King of Death had. And so, Ryuk's initial reaction was to be consumed by anger, an anger that devoured his insides and shone bright through his eyes.

Whoever had come to snatch the girl-Death Note hadn't even bother looking at him. He could not see through the shield unless the other wanted to reveal himself. And so he had been left behind, locked in his cage to slowly rot away, burning in anger like he'd never known before.

Since he'd been captured he'd been twisting and aching for what appeared to be an eternity. And for the first time in his long existence he had come to understand why some mortals regard death as a blessing. Sometimes in the past weeks, when the pain got unbearable, he had wished for an end. He was willing to accept the end of him if it meant the pain would go away too.

And now, one of his kin had come and gone without trying to rescue him. He pondered all sorts of hypothesis. Perhaps the spell the little witch had cast on him prevented him from being seen. Perhaps the other couldn't acknowledge Ryuk's presence in front of the man called boss. Perhaps it was just that the Shinigami didn't know Ryuk was working for the Synod or that he was being held against his will. He had no way to prove any of them but after a while he discarded them all. Why would a Shinigami come shielded into the mortal realm if it weren't for the fact that he knew he could be trapped otherwise? And who could provide him with protection but the Synod?

He thought he knew the truth: this was punishment for having failed. But why? He had done what he'd been ordered and there was no way he could've done anything different. Of course he had failed to report to Nu, but he had hoped that when that happened the Synod would realize he was in trouble and would come to rescue him. Or at least they would come to take him to be judged in the Shinigami Realm. Then another, more frightening thought came to his mind, perhaps the Synod had left him where he was because they couldn't get him out.

Until then he'd been able to hold on to hope but he had to face the truth, no help was coming. If he wanted to live he had to make a decision. Aiding Light was his only chance to get out of the cage. But then he would have to face the Synod's wrath or become a fugitive in exile. He could never go back home. That is if Kira's plans didn't leave him without a home to return to. If someone had told him he was going to miss that wasteland he would've laughed.

Giving up to Kira's demands would be treason. But what else could he do? Then he realized that things weren't so bad. Thanks to the Shinigami in the shield of darkness he had something to negotiate with. And maybe, if he was careful and clever, he could worm his way through it all and still manage to come clean. Shinigami and People talk a lot about intentions but in the end what they value are results. If he managed to aid the Synod save the Shinigamis' sorry ass, he might get out of it with nothing more than a reprimand. It was a dangerous game. But he just wasn't ready for the curtain fall.

He knew Light would come eventually following the trail of his girl-Death Note. In the meantime he had to think how to better take advantage of what he had seen. First, he had to decide which part he could tell and which he should better forget.

_**11.2: Memento Mori**_

"_Memento mori__ is a Latin phrase that may be freely translated as: remember that you're mortal. It names a genre of artistic creations that vary widely from one another, but which all share the same purpose, which is to remind people of their own mortality."  
From the Wikipedia_

_Czech Republic, Prague's-Staré Mesto (old town) April 20th 2019, an antiques shop in Karlova Street:_

Back in Kira's headquarters they wouldn't have noticed Black's absence until Monday. Red had been munching barbecue flavored potato chips while idly browsing through a computer magazine. Mac was banging his head to the loud screams coming from his earphones. And Kira had been going though his plan to face the upcoming crisis in the safe house. So the unknown snatchers could've had some time to get away. That was obviously not their plan because as soon as the sun set a package arrived at Karlova Street.

It contained a book and a note. The book was a leather-bound volume called the "Dance of Death" and its pages were blank. The note was concise: 'Have you lost something, Kira?' It had no signature but it had sent them all into a frantic activity.

Red went down to the lab looking for clues while Light and Mac contacted all their operatives. After hours of tracking people they were interrupted by a bloodcurdling scream coming from the downstairs lab.

They found Red scrubbing her hands with a nail brush under a jet of steaming hot water. Her knuckles were bleeding and a pair of discarded gloves was lying carelessly over the sink.

Mac held her hands in his firmly and told her: "Luv, stop, you're hurting yourself."

Then he made her sit on a high stool. Red followed him meekly and breathed trying not to hyperventilate. Mac sat Indian style in the floor in front of her and asked: "What's the matter?"

She just shook her head from side to side, tried to talk and failed.

Light ordered curtly: "Speak!"

Mac threw him a sideways glance but Red lifted her hand to stop them from arguing. After a few ragged inhalations she tried again: "Urban legends," she croaked.

Light barked: "What?"

That had sent Red into ranting: "You'd think they would be just urban legends. I mean, you read about them and supposedly they weren't that uncommon during the 19th century. Even some respectable libraries claim to have them, especially old anatomy volumes; a bit of doctor's humor taken to the extreme, so to speak. But you never quite believe it. For someone to actually go and do it, it's mad, it's sick." She pointed towards the book shaking with disgust.

Light huffed: "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Anthropodermic bibliopegy," she scratched her arms maniacally.

Light narrowed his eyes and asked: "Is it…?"

Red didn't seem to understand at first so she looked at him inquiringly.

"We'd been able to contact everyone except for the people in the safe house and Black."

Then understanding dawned on her: "Oh God, no! No, this is older. Plus they haven't had the time. Do you think they would do it?"

Light raised an eyebrow: "I don't know. In any case, this is a menace we can't ignore. And the relevant question is not if they'd dare, but if it'd work. Turn on the TV. Hand me the remote and a pen." He said. Red shuddered and obeyed.

Mac looked from one to the other: "What are you talking about?" he picked it up: "I see nuthin' especial about this book. It doesn't feel like the Death Note at all," he shrugged and examined it more carefully while Light channel surfed 'til he found a tennis match.

Kira took the book and wrote the name and the instructions.

Mac and Red watched intently the players running on the tennis court. The guys yelled as if they were practicing karate. In between cries, the hollow ball bouncing off the rackets onto the clay court broke the silence with the finality of nails in a coffin. Six minutes and forty seconds elapsed and nothing happened.

Light sighed: "This proves nothing, though. You are right. They haven't had the time to do it. And there's no way of knowing if it would work if they tried."

Mac picked the book once more and said: "I still say this doesn't look like more than paper and some animal's hide."

Red breathed out slowly: "Not one but several. And I dunno if you should call them that. It seems disrespectful, though strictly speaking we are all animals. And you really can't tell who they were. The tanning deteriorates the DNA."

Mac finally got what they were talking about. He dropped the book as if it burned. Being his father's son he had seen and done things most people couldn't stomach. But the thought of what he'd held in his hands was too much. He muttered: "You're not seriously saying that this is…"

"Yup, it is," Red nodded emphatically as she began downloading notes in her smartphone: "Believe it or not some of the most notable examples of anthropodermic bindings were done with samples obtained from voluntary donors. Those crazy bastards were probably trying to immortalize themselves. Otherwise it would be taken from the poor or criminals whom no one would claim. This one I date around the 16th century. I mean the binding, the sheets are more recent, they are paper and the original were probably cloth. The handwriting in the note is the same as the one in the poem Black's guy sent her."

Mac snorted: "Fuck! Nuthin' says I love u like a Nazi lampshade."

"I'm not sure about that. Cases of people who were actually killed to harvest skin are rare outside of fiction. And even the most famous are hard to authenticate. I'm not saying Ilse Koch was a saint but those lampshades seem to have been hearsay evidence. Symbols of Nazi brutality more than anything else, though I can't understand why anyone would need to embellish the story to make their point. Genocide seems brutal 'nough for me."

Light interrupted: "The material it's made of is irrelevant. What can you tell me about the book?"

"The "Dance of Death" was a collection of copperplates on paintings by Hans Holbein. That guy redefined the genre. Before him they usually had a moral, after him they were just a series of independent scenes with Death overcoming humans while they reached the peak of their lives pursues. So in a very deranged way, it's fitting that the memento mori is bounded in well, you know; the pelt of the prey... All the pages appeared to be blank at plain sight, and all are save for one," she picked the book with tweezers and opened it under an UV lamp: "It's a copy of Holbein's original, but was done with fluorescent ink which shows under blacklight. As you can see, in the painting the emperor is about to pass sentence on the kneeling peasant. Death has put down his hourglass beside the emperor's orb and scepter, has broken the point of the emperor's sword and is now pulling off his crown."

Light laughed angrily: "It doesn't take a genius to figure out who is behind this," he pointed at the Grim Reaper: "And the hidden message they are sending us is clear. They know who I am, they think they can stop me, as first measure they've captured Black and the book is their way of warning us that killing her might leave us with a bigger problem. The fact that the ringleader lets us know he is a Shinigami but that he has made no demands to free his comrades, tells us just what sort of enemy we're facing. He isn't in a hurry and he has help, human help. You," he looked at Red: "Tell me all you can about the book and the note anything that will help us track them down," then he looked at Mac: "You'll go after the boyfriend. And I'll go to interrogate the two Death Gods we have trapped. We need to find her, quickly."

The others nodded and went out. Light looked at the book, pondering who might have sent it. Then he denied, what he was thinking was impossible. Whoever had sent the 'gift' was smart but he'd made the fatal mistake of underestimating Kira, that Shinigami was about to meet his match.

_**11.3: The Angel of the Odd**_

_-"Who are you, pray? How did you get here? And what is it you are talking about?"  
-"Az vor ow I com'd ere," replied the figure, "dat iz none of your pizzness; and as vor vat I be talking apout, I be talk apout vot I tink proper; and as vor who I be, vy dat is de very ting I com'd here for to let you zee for yourzelf."  
From 'The Angel of the Odd' a short story by Edgar Allan Poe_

_Unknown location, April 19th 2019:_

Black woke up and found she was lying on her left side on an operation table. Her right knee was slightly raised and her arms were set as if in prayer. She was blindfolded so when she opened her eyes all she could see was a red blur. Someone had undressed her and all she had on was what felt like a hospital robe. For a few panic-stricken seconds she didn't know where she was. Then it all came back. Anger flushed down her body, from the top of her head to the tip of her bare feet. That bastard Turk had played her. He had played her good. Not for a minute had she doubted all the crap he had fed her.

'_Stupid, stupid, stupid girl,'_ she reproached herself: '_What are the odds? What are the odds of him having a life story that was tailor-made to make you feel an immediate closeness to him? What are the odds of him being the concretion of every foolish little fantasy you had of a Prince Charming? Reason should have told you they must be zero._'

But she hadn't been working on reason. No. She had let her crotch call the shots and now look where that had taken her. They might as well kill her because the Ghost wasn't going to let her live through it. Just thinking about his I-told-you face made her feel lightheaded. She thought sourly that feeling might be due to the chloroform.

She took in a deep breath and ordered herself to stop whining. She needed to keep focused if she wanted to have any chance of escaping. At first she was puzzled by the fact they hadn't bound her but then she'd tried to move and couldn't. Her arms and left leg were paralyzed. She couldn't feel them. She drew another deep breath to try to keep panic at bay.

"She's awake" pointed out Czech brute.

"Good," growled Bulgarian brute.

Black remained silent as she heard the two brutes moving around her. After getting a grip on her fear, all that was left of the initial adrenaline rush were the heightened senses. She was acutely aware of every sound and every little movement the men made around her. And she was able of getting a mental picture of what they were doing. Ready to profit from any chance she got of getting the hell out of that place, wherever it was that those creeps had taken her to. But at the same time she felt oddly detached, as if it all was happening to someone else.

She new the sharp slap she heard came from the Bulgarian brute putting on latex gloves. She new the one that was untying the knots of her hospital robe was the Czech brute. He was also the one who had pulled a metallic cart right next to her. She knew she had electrodes on her chest and she could hear the regular beep of a cardiac monitor. And then the Bulgarian brute began fingering her waist. When he talked his voice was muffled so he was wearing something over his mouth, probably a surgical mask.

"This we're doing here, Miss, it be a nerve blockade; the lumbar plexus first and then the sciatic nerve so your leg muscles won't work. We've already done the brachial plexus blockade to your arms; also we've done your left leg. Now we do the right," informed the Bulgarian brute in a hideous mishmash of broken English and medical mumbo-jumbo: "We locate the iliac crest then the spinous processes' midline. And 'bout 4 cm in between the two is good." He kept palpating her while he talked. He kneaded her waist and back with his gloved hands until he seemed to find what he was looking for and marked the spot.

"Get off me!" she cried out.

The Bulgarian brute ignored her angry protest and continued reciting from the mad anesthesiologist manual: "We clean," he said rubbing a wet cotton swab over Black's back: "Then we numb the skin with local anesthetic in the needle insertion site. Or we don't. The bad girl that kick us in the groin deserves to feel pain," he said brushing the syringe over her skin.

She could hear Marek clearing his throat. Her heart ached at the sound of his voice. She swallowed and let the moment pass. The hurt became nothing more than a wave crashing on a distant shore before going back to the sea.

"But the boss is the boss. So we numb the skin. Then we insert the needle and turn on the nerve stimulator…"

"How much?" asked Czech brute.

"A 1.5 mA current until the thigh twitches then down to 0.5 mA or 1.0 mA," answered Bulgarian brute, then he carried on with his creepy show and tell: "and the quadriceps muscle twitches. That good. We found the right place."

Black could feel her thigh flapping about. She remembered a practice she'd done in biology lab with a dead frog. They had made the poor animal's legs dance with a small electric prod. She got an image of herself sprawled over a dissecting tray and she missed a heartbeat: "What do you think you're doing? Let go of me!"

"Someone wants to be gagged," admonished the Bulgarian brute in a playful tone.

She bit her lips, for the moment there was nothing she could do. She closed her eyes underneath the blindfold and retreated deep within herself, only half listening to what the Bulgarian brute was saying. He was ranting about the benefits of using Lidocaine. He went on and on about how she wasn't going to be able to move or feel her limbs for the next 3 or 4 hours. She ignored him, thinking about how the sea and the wind sounded when she was sitting on her favorite spot at the beach back home. She was sharply brought back to reality when she heard two words. The anesthesia had only been the preliminaries, they weren't done with her.

"Botulinum toxin? That causes paralysis, doesn't it? God!" Her voice broke.

Marek came quickly to her side. He took off the blindfold and held her face in his hands, making her look at him. He caressed her cheek with his forefinger and said: "Calm down."

"Don't touch me!" She yelled.

He laid her head back down on the bed but continued talking to her in his soothing velvety voice: "Believe me. This is all for the best. We thought this out through. Trying to keep you immobilized for the next couple of months was going to be torture. Bondages would leave sores and moving around an uncooperative subject in a stretcher can be hard. With your…family, trailing behind us we can't afford to remain too long in the same place. A gurney is not a good choice either. If your feet can't make contact with the floor and your weight is not properly supported then you'll be virtually crucified. A couple of days of that and your lungs will collapse. If we use a straightjacket and ligatures, then you'd be in excruciating pain after a day or so of remaining strapped in the same position. Plus there's always the risk of thrombosis from poor blood circulation. Feeding you and cleaning you would be a nightmare. At some point we would have to untie you and, knowing you, you'd try to escape every single time," He kneeled besides her and lowered his voice, speaking so only she could hear: "We would require a whole crew watching over you. You'd have to be blindfolded permanently or they would have to wear masks, perhaps both. And even that wouldn't warranty their safety. I know you, you'd be listening. You'd take advantage of every glimpse you got, profit from every mistake and then you'd take revenge as soon as you managed to get free. We wouldn't be able to let you go afterwards."

After realizing they were planning to cripple her so they could hold her for months, Black stared at the wall in horror. Death didn't sound so bad in comparison. Marek got up and tried to touch her once more but she turned away from his hand, stretching her neck as much as she could. He kept moving his hand towards her and Black tried to bite him. She missed his fingers by millimeters.

The Bulgarian brute said they could also anesthetize her so she wouldn't be able to move her neck. Maybe they should even do her jaw, though the drooling might become a problem. She couldn't be sure, for he was wearing a surgical mask, but she could bet that the brute was smiling and salivating from the prospect of rendering her still more defenseless.

Marek looked disapprovingly at the Bulgarian and then continued talking: "We need you to be able to listen and respond, so sedating you is not an option. Botulinum toxin is highly toxic but with carefully applied small doses we'll block the neurotransmitter known as acetylcholine in the striate muscles of your limbs. This is better than an anesthetic because this will only affect the motor nerves. You'll be able to breathe on your own. You'll feel your arms and legs even if you aren't able to move then and if you are hurting from an inadequate position you'll be able to tell me. And it only requires one application. We are going to use the anesthesia only so you won't feel pain from the multiple injections required for immobilizing large muscular groups. And its effects will pass in a couple of hours. We are not trying to hurt you. The toxin's effects are also temporary, in 3 months or so neuronal activity will begin to return to your limbs, and in 6 months it will be fully restored. You can stay most of the time in the bed where I can move you so you don't get sores. When we need to travel I'll strap you to a wheelchair. I know you like sporty rides so I got you a treat, a dark red Power Electric 3G Ranger X Rwd."

She kept her eyes fixed on the wall, ignoring him.

He pursed his lips and then decided to let it pass: "With correct physiotherapy you won't lose too much muscular mass and blood circulation in your limbs won't be affected. The chances of permanent damage are minimal. Though you may find it hard to believe, these two here are a qualified surgeon and an electromyography tech. I have some medical training too. I repeat, we don't want to harm you. This is the only way I can take care of you by myself. Are you listening to me?"

Marek sounded genuinely concerned for her. Especially that last part, as if her lack of response really anguished him. That infuriated Black: "By all means, Dr. Mengele. Please do carry on. It's all so fascinating."

He sighed: "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

"But of course, how inconsiderate of me. I should be thankful that you just didn't burst my kneecaps. Rendering me chemically disabled is so much more civilized."

"I've told you we had no choice and this is only a temporary arrangement."

Black huffed: "How temporary?"

"That's entirely up to you, my dear."

"What the fuck are you talking about? I'm not here voluntarily. You kidnapped me! You're the one who's procured the services of bloody Doctor Frankenstein and Nurse Igor here. So don't talk to me as if I were a guest in your madhouse. And don't you dare call me your dear. I wish I'd never met you!" Swallowing down her anger she looked him in the eye and stated: "That wasn't a coincidence, was it?"

"You deserve an explanation. And I'll give you one, just not now. As soon as you're done here and you've gotten some rest I'll come to wash you for dinner. Then I'll get you ready. I want to leave here as soon as possible but I don't think we'll be able to do so before midnight. There's a lot left to do before we can go. I should get with it." He put the blindfold back on.

"Hah! Now I've seen it all: a squeamish psycho. The least you owe me is to stay and watch how your goons torture me. Have some guts, bastard!"

Marek grunted exasperated and seemed about to protest. Then he lightly squeezed her shoulder and said: "I'm here."

Black didn't answer but silently insulted herself for being stupid enough to draw comfort from the fact that he had stayed. _'I must be mental'_, she thought. For some crazy reason she felt safer if he was there.

When all was over they took her to some sort of recovery room and left her alone. Black couldn't sleep. She was exhausted but she was very much aware of the absence of feeling in her arms and legs. She just couldn't close her eyes and let go. She couldn't even concentrate in planning a way to escape or at least trying to leave a trail the Ghost could follow. All she could do was to stare at the ceiling's cracked paint. Even though the bright light hurt her eyes she was thankful they hadn't left the blindfold on or turned the lights off, she wasn't ready to face darkness.

Marek came back. He washed her, dressed her and fed her with a calculated efficiency that made her want to cry. He only spoke to her to ask if she preferred to be in a semi-fowler or full fowler position while eating. She said she didn't know what the fuck that was and he had explained as he reclined the clinical bed. When he finished giving her spoonfuls of a weak chicken noodle soup she'd been barely able to hold down, he'd asked her if she wanted him to put her back down. She said she didn't give a damn and while he manipulated the bed she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She shrieked, turned her head away and bit her trembling lips 'til they bled.

"What's the matter? Are you ok?"

"No, of course I'm not. A madman kidnapped me. I've been crippled so you can carry me around like one of those ridiculous purse-pooches. Plus all this is for nothing, because the minute my boss figures out I'm been held by his enemies, the wheels in his head will start turning and he's going to kill me before I become a bigger problem. And, to make it all worst: My hair is a mess!" She ended with a sob.

She'd thought she was going on a very important date and she'd gone to a hairdresser so her usually lifeless straight mane could be coerced into a bun. Her hair had been pulled back into a large chignon that covered the crown and back of her head. The hair at the nape had been arranged in short ringlets. And the bangs in her forehead were set so they demurely framed her face. She looked just like a Regency Era lady and she'd loved the hairdo so much that she'd performed a contortionism act so she wouldn't get it wet while taking a shower. Her image with what had been the most sophisticated updo she'd ever worn transformed into a rat's nest was a reminder of how different her weekend was turning out to be from what she'd imagined. It had been the final drop.

"Vanitas vanitatum et omnia vanitas," Marek let out a disgruntled laugh: "Woman, you sure are a piece of work. You go through hell with an ironic smirk. But what does it take to make you snap? Messing up your hairdo," he sighed: "If it upsets you that much, then we'll brush it."

He got up and came back with the bags she'd packed. He'd fumbled in them 'til he found her hairbrush. Then he removed the hair pins with exquisite care, picked up a long strand and began passing the brush over it. When he was done he took another handful and did the same. After a while he stopped. Black held her breath, she could've sworn he was holding a lock of her hair to his nose and she wasn't sure how to feel about it.

Before she could think of a hurtful remark, Czech brute came in saying they had finished loading up the truck and they were leaving. Black thought: _'Good riddance. But don't get too comfy, arseholes. Ever since you crossed my path, you've been dead men walking.' _

Just before they had brought her down she'd caught sight of their features, and there was no chance in hell she could forget them. While she was kissing the grass her mind had been processing information about them. Finding their true identities wouldn't be hard, even for a less determined foe.

She began wondering if the Turk was a mind reader because he'd said: "You shouldn't, those two are just hired guns."

"Hard to find good help nowadays, right, Mr. Černý-Vlcek?"

"No if you know where to look for."

"There are lots of rats hiding in this town that one can entice if one has enough cheese."

"If I thought it would stop you I wouldn't tell you. But I'm sure that sooner or later you're going to find out. I'm hoping you have enough sense left in you so you can see these two are nothing but petty criminals. Punishment should befit the crime and, disgusting as they are, they hardly deserve a death penalty. I've only just met the electromyography tech, but the Bulgarian, which I'm sure you can tell by his accent, is an old acquaintance. He used to work for the CSS."

"So that torturer pervert was a spy for the infamous Bulgarian Secret Service? My, oh my, I'm truly impressed. Those guys don't charge beans for their dirty deeds. Exactly how much is my market value, if you don't mind my asking. Let's call it professional curiosity. Though, I'll bet neither of them was aware that they were trafficking with something priceless, or they might have upgraded from small time criminals into big time murderers, and you might have ended your days bleeding in a gutter. Not that it would change a thing. You and your little friends have already signed up for a slow painful death."

"It doesn't surprise me you are one to hold a grudge. For your information, I'm not stupid enough to spill the beans or to pretend not to know what you're talking about. In short, dear, they don't have a clue, but I do," He leaned down and murmured in her ear: "Your secret is safe with me," Then he got up and started repacking her bags: "As far as they are concerned, I'm a rich guy who can't take no for an answer. And you are an unreceptive sweetheart who has dared refuse me. In their defense, let me tell you that after they found out what I was planning to do with you they accused me of having necrophiliac tendencies. They sounded truly shocked. At least until they found out how much I was willing to pay for my fancy. Being criticized by the likes of them is somehow disturbing, though I don't really care for their opinion. And even if we've known each other for some time, that Bulgarian hustler is no friend of mine. He never was much of a spy either. He worked briefly with the 6th Direction's 2nd department when he was a young man in med school. His patriotic endeavors involved ratting out fellow students who exhibited capitalistic ideas and smuggling bootlegged music. As you can see these bastard's worst sin is being ideologically promiscuous. Plus they've had a hard time; when the Communist regime fell they found themselves with no prospects of a decent job and a life style that was hard support. In their countries a lot of qualified professionals have been forced to emigrate. Guess the Bulgarian does have some patriotic feelings because he stayed, even though he became the sort of doctor who asks no questions after working a guy's face so no even his mother can recognize it. He's been trying to save enough money so he and Nurse Igor can fulfill their dream of establishing a clinic near his hometown in the Carpathian Mountains. That's where I found them. And I paid them your price in poison."

"What?"

"One vial of 100 U of type A toxin, known as Botox, sells for more than 500 dollars; 1 U is equivalent to 0.05 nanogram. And that price is what's charged in the legal market. Type B, which is the brand that's used for muscular dystonia, sells cheaper, a 5000 U vial costs approximately 460 dollars. Several governmental organisms, including the FDA, have allegedly tried to discourage its use for fading wrinkles since the early 2000's, but they haven't actually forbid it. And so, that has turned out to be a thriving business. So much so that some of the oldest users, no pun intended, have developed immunity to the type A and type B serotypes. In English, the old birds have lost the key to the fountain of youth. But what we used in you is type F toxin, one which is usually reserved for the medical treatment in hospitalized patients with severe muscular disorders for whom the usual serotypes no longer work. For obvious reasons, that one is not legally available for cosmetic uses and that's why in the black market this is worth more than gold."

"Blimey!"

"I promised them several vials plus a premium in cash if we got you. And Doctor Frankenstein, as you call him, is an entrepreneur and plans to use it to outfit an old cold war biological weapons research facility so he can start processing his own toxin. My bet is that his dream of a clinic is going to come true and that tourism to the Carpathian Mountains is going to experience a curios increase. I like to think I'm actually helping an economy that hasn't been in top shape since the iron curtain fell."

"I was going to kill you lot anyway, but now I'm going to enjoy it. You are all criminals!"

"I resent that comment. I may be in their company but I'm not one of them. And I've done nothing illegal. Given what we both know you are, I don't consider this kidnapping. This is a citizen arrest."

"Birds of a feather flock together. I have taken you with these robbers, and you must die in their company, said the farmer to the stork as he snapped its neck."

"Funny, you didn't strike me as the type who reads Aesop's fables."

"Funny, you didn't strike me as a bootlegger of toxic bacteria who hires muscle for snatching innocent girls."

"I've told you they are specialists and innocent is not an adjective I'd use to describe you, my beautiful murderess," He traced with his thumb over her calf the letters that spelled the names of dead children. Feeling was starting to return to her limbs but Black couldn't pull away so she just gritted her teeth. Marek continued unfazed: "And, I don't usually go around snatching girls, innocent or otherwise, but you are…special. I'm sure you're aware of it."

"I thought you were interested in me, that you really cared. But you've turned out to be just like the rest," she was thankful she had her back turned to him. She didn't want him to see the pain reflected in her face.

He fought his first instinct, which was embracing her and trying to comfort her. Instead he kept his distance and said in a cold voice: "You know what they say, men can only think of one thing."

She breathed in, lifted her chin and stated: "Of course, you're just another power hungry jerk. But you're wrong if you think you can coerce it out of me, Black Wolf. I'll kill myself first." She got ready to bite off her own tongue.

He turned her around and forced her mouth open: "There's not need for dramatics, my dear. We both know your brother didn't raise a quitter and this game is far from over."

He was an arsehole but he knew her alright. She stopped struggling.

Marek looked at her eyes with curiosity: "You know; it really offends me that you think I would want the sort of power you have to offer. I'm not an idiot. Or that you'd think we'd come up with such a simpleminded plan. We've never intended to coerce anything out of you. That's why we needed some time for you to cool off and be willing to listen to what we have to say. We were hoping that after you realized no escape is possible you would see the light and decided to cooperate with us."

She tried to get his fingers again and he kept just out of reach with a smug smile. She spat on his face: "In your dreams! Fuck you!

"I think we've already established that isn't going to happen in the near future, my dear."

He left the room as Black started an alphabetic list of all the curse words she knew. Leaning on the closed door Marek rolled his eyes and turned to face the Man in Shadows: "This isn't going to work. She's never going to cooperate with us."

"The chances of her working for us willingly were less than 1 percent," the Man in Shadows stated matter-of-factly.

Marek pinched the space between his eyebrows with his thumb and index finger and tried to control himself. This guy's coolness got on his nerves. "Then why are we doing this? She has suffered enough."

"Because she might change her mind and because even if she doesn't she is going to realize her only chance of getting alive out of this is to cooperate with us, or at least to pretend she does. In the end, regardless of the reasons she has to do so, she'll work for us. That's all we need. And I didn't choose her, her destiny was set when she became what she is. But, if I had to choose someone, I would have picked someone like her. She's smart, idiots are unpredictable and that's annoying. She already knows Kira is going to kill her if he sees her as a liability. It's only a matter of time until she starts wondering why he hasn't killed her yet. And that's when we'll tell her about the gift we left to her boss as a token of our goodwill."

"That's another thing; his boss is not going to take her back. He'll never be able to trust her."

"Oh, I'm counting on that. Have you brought them?"

He was about to ask what he was talking about when he remembered the Man in Shadows had made a request before Marek had gone out girl snatching. He threw a pack of wafer cookies with lemon filling to the air and saw them being swallowed by the darkness with small crunching sounds. He waited until the package came back out empty and asked: "What do you mean you're counting on it?"

"He is going to take her back and keep her close to him precisely because he won't trust her. He is going to know from the start she's gone double agent. If she's as smart as I think she is, she is going to be the one who tells him."

"Why? Then he'll have no choice but killing her, regardless of the gift," at the mention of the package he'd had to sent Marek stifled a shiver.

The Man in Shadows explained it. He spoke slowly in his little boy voice as if he were baffled by the world's general cluelessness: "He won't, her value as a source of information of his enemies is going to outweigh her potential as a threat. And he won't trust her or what she tells him, but he won't be able to get rid of her. No as long as she is his only link to us, and we manage to remain out of his reach. That is going to drive him mad."

"If you say so…"

"I just did," the Man in Shadows pointed out.

This guy was too literal to be true. Yet he was able to make amazing deductions with next to none information and he was usually right. Marek shrugged and said: "Yes, of course."

As usual the irony in his voice was lost on the Man in Shadows. "Next time, bring snickerdoodles," then he paused for a full minute before adding: "and bring some vanilla ice-cream to go with them," then he vanished to whatever hellhole he retired to plot his schemes.

Marek stretched, cracking his shoulders to try to get rid of some of the tension that had been building up during a very long day. He grunted: "Great, I've sold my soul to the cookie monster."

_**11.4: The Lesser Evil**_

"_As soon as you're born they make you feel small,  
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all.  
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool,  
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules.  
When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years  
Then they expect you to pick a career,  
When you can't really function, you're so full of fear.  
There's room at the top they are telling you still,  
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill,  
If you want to be like the folks on the hill.  
A working class hero is something to be  
If you want to be a hero, well just follow me"  
From the song 'Working Class Hero' by John Lennon._

_Unknown location, April 20th 2019:_

The man known as Marc Black Wolf continued with his preparations. He dyed his hair a dirty blond, put on light brown contact lenses and applied collagen injections in his lips, nose and chin. He completed his disguise with a skillfully applied coat of make-up to lighten his complexion. And then he took out from a white metallic locker an expensive looking casual outfit. It made him look slimmer and taller. He was satisfied by the yuppie-on-vacation look he'd achieved.

He stared at the stranger in the mirror and thought that it had been a while since he'd looked up and not seen his own face looking back. When he'd retired he'd sworn he will never do it again, and then the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come had come recruiting.

He felt totally dissociated with the healthy man in the reflection. He was having a flashback of the time when he'd woken up in a motel in the Balkans with a bullet wound in his shoulder and no idea of who he was or what he was doing there. It had taken him five minutes to piece it up together. Looking in the mirror hadn't helped, even though he hadn't been wearing a disguise. Back then he'd realized with terror that was exactly the problem, he had gotten so used to walking in other men's shoes that he had problems returning to himself. Finally, he was able to get a grip and outrun those who were trying to hunt him down, but that hadn't stopped him from wondering where his life was going to if he could not longer feel comfortable in his own skin.

That had been the beginning of the end; self-doubt is an agent's downfall. Some life and death games require the sort of lighting bolt decision making that depends on an unbreakable confidence in what you're doing. He had learnt that one the hard way. His palms started to sweat. As had often been the case ever since he first realized he was rapidly approaching the dreaded fourth decade, he felt old and tired, not at all prepared to face what was coming.

"What am I doing here?" he asked the terrified man in the mirror.

Marek inhaled and exhaled slowly until he managed to control his racing pulse. Stress is a killer, especially in his line of work. His little anxiety problem was the reason why the **M**illî **İ**stihbarat **T**eşkilâtı (National Intelligence Organization) had let him go.

Then the yuppie in the mirror frowned. Once more he found himself in the middle of a chess game with no clue of who were the ones moving the pieces. Once more he was a pawn unable to see pass his square. All he could do was pray he was playing with the whites. And, if he didn't manage to leave the world a better place when he finally got knocked out of the checkered board, he could at least hope he wasn't leaving it worst. That made him remember the only good advice his father had given him. The memory of his words was tied up to the first time Marek had struck a deal with the devil.

For a man that had made deception a way of life, he had been surprisingly honest with Black. What he had told her was basically the truth. The only thing he had downright lied about was being an art historian, though he had spent enough time pretending to be one that he might as well be. His formal training was in psychology. He had left college at age 20 to join the army. But he was an overachiever and had managed to finish his career while attending the officer's training program.

After a bright, if brief, academic career, he had joined the Maroon Berets. Even though there hadn't been born a man less fitted for the military, through sheer stubbornness he'd started climbing ranks. But he never felt truly satisfied. His decision of joining the army can only be understood if one knows that in Turkey a praetorian military elite acts as an arbitrator of many aspects of the country's life. The army is famous for its professionalism and widely regarded as the guardian of the national values every youth should aspire to uphold. Even civilian see them as "the apple of the Turkish people's collective eye." His father was a national hero and had gone from corporal to brigadier general in a few years. That's a tough act to follow.

For years he tried to sell himself the idea that he had no interest in following in the man's footsteps. Whenever someone started to mention anything related to the need every son has of metaphorically vanquishing his father and becoming the alpha male, he laughed. He never admitted that was exactly what he'd wanted until he'd thought he'd made the kill. Surprisingly his chance had come at a time when he was beginning to wonder if he had reached his incompetence level when they'd made him sergeant major. The **MİT** had approached him with an offer he couldn't refuse.

The man leading the Ministry at the time had been trying to get a firmer grip in the national security issues to diminish the de facto power of the Chief of the General Staff, a position held by the military. Right from the 60's Turkey had been caught up in a struggle between a chain of weak civilian governments and a strong military establishment who felt continuously obliged to intervene in the country's politics. Whenever the generals had felt the civilians were failing, they'd staged a coup; even though outwardly their only desire was achieving a democratic government. Traditionally the National Intelligence Organization had been a civilian organism dependant on the Prime Minister, designed as a counterbalance, though it drew most of its ranks from the army.

Among other innovations, the Prime Minister had decided to create a Directorate of Psychological Intelligence and Marek seemed a perfect candidate to join in. The profound mistrust he had in the good intentions of his superiors, which had made him unfit for further advancement in the army, was the quality that would secure him a position in the Directorate. Paranoia was a creed among the agents dedicated to psychological warfare. Plus, producing dissension by instilling doubt, fear and hopelessness in the minds of the enemy is far easier when you've experienced them first hand. Having a solid background in history and psychology also helped. There's nothing new under the sun, black and grey propaganda has been used before. Take for example what they did with the Order of the Temple. Just see how well that one had worked. A couple of well placed rumors had turned a monastic order of bankers into a bunch of heretic baby killers. And that's how you can justify any action taken against those _subhuman_ bastards. After all, they deserve it. Surprisingly that trick still works time after time. Our collective unconscious just loves a clear-cut villain.

He had finally found something he was really good at and that his father could never even dream of doing. His dad, a straightforward fanatic, lacked the imagination. But Marek had the gift, he was a chameleon. He could look at the person in front of him and turn the exact color the other wanted to see. People are desperate for a kindred spirit and they will clutch at straws to get the approval and sympathy they think they deserve. And when he had reeled them in, he could play them like a harp. Soon enough he found himself working directly under the orders of the Deputy Undersecretary of Intelligence. His codename was beginning to buzz in the grapevine and his only regret was that he couldn't inform his father of just how successful he had become.

He was sent on a mission to Paris and there he'd met Zelenka, the Czech girl he was going to marry. He was walking on sunshine and he felt invincible. He'd been an ass and had gone back home to parade his triumph in front of his father. As was to be expected, the man hadn't been impressed. He wasn't rude enough to downright insult Zelenka, but he left it clear he would've preferred that his son had married a good Turkish girl. His father had found yet another cause for disapproving him aside from his desertion of the army.

After an incredibly awkward meal during which Marek had drank too much, he felt ready to tell his father he could go to hell. He had thought scornfully that he'd been an idiot for ever wanting that bigot's approval. He was finally ready to walk away and let the old man rot in his own bile. He could've left making a scene, but his wife and his mom deserved better. So he'd stayed.

His dad was a traditional man and insisted men and women took their tea separately. They were alone, taking their refreshment in his studio when Marek had told him what he thought to be the truth, loudly. When he'd been on the verge of telling the old fool just how much farther he had gone than him in serving his country, his dad had brought him to his knees, literally, with a couple of swift blows of his cane. Marek rose ready to disarm the old man and was hit by another two blows in his arms. The old man had hit the nerves leaving him temporarily defenseless. Then he was brought down again, this time by a sweeping kick. He rose once more, this time angered, but his dad blocked his swing and received him with a knee to his stomach that knocked the air out of him. Without a pause the old man had let go of his walking stick and thrown him a right hook that sent him to the floor with a broken nose.

He was bleeding on his father's price carpet, a kilim which had been supposedly used in a dinner to homage Kemal Atatürk himself. As he was trying to get his bearings and get pass the restrains that prevented him from repaying the old geezer in kind for the beating, his dad had whispered in his ear: "You little motherfucker, I already knew. And I'd thought that I'd raised you smarter."

What had paralyzed Marek weren't his harsh words but the shine of pride in his eyes as he'd said them. That had been more shocking than getting his ass kicked by an old guy with a cane. But that was going to be the least of the surprises that day held in reserve for him. For the first time in his life his father had told him the truth. Marek had found out that his father's lies piled up higher and higher. Apart from a skirmish or two his father had never been in the frontlines. All his military grades, medals and his zealot speeches were bull, nothing more than a cover. Marek heard him spun his tale on all-fours, trying hard not to puke in front of the man who was the **MİT**'s Undersecretary.

He'd been thunderstruck. All he could do was blabber: "How? When? Does Faruk know? Does mom know?

"Do you make it a habit to go around telling people what you do for a living?"

"Of course not!" he protested offended.

"Neither do I," he laughed. That was rarer than a blue moon. Marek could count with the fingers of one hand the times he had seen his father laugh.

"But you've been married to mom for over forty years …"

"Does your Czech darling know?"

"God, no," the thought of telling Zelenka had never even crossed his mind.

"Good, keep it that way and we won't give your mother the pain of seeing one of us kill the other."

The menace contained in his words didn't go unnoticed. And with what he knew of the Undersecretary's reputation, he doubted his father was joking. Then the old man had helped him stand up. He said they were never to discuss this again, in public or in private. Then he'd handed him a piece of paper. He said it was a letter he always gave to his field agents when he welcomed them into the service. Rumor had it he handpicked and recruited them himself. He said with laugher in his voice that it was rice paper and squid's ink, a little concession to all the fantasies his boys and girls had after watching all those spy movies before they had to face the real deal.

As soon as they had crossed the threshold of his studio, the man who had beaten the crap out of him transformed into a frail grumpy old relic. He kept it up even while they were staging the fall from the stairs that they used to explain his mom and his wife why Marek was wounded. His father kept the deceit up all his life, if it weren't for the note he'd given him, Marek might have thought he'd dreamed the whole incident. It was hard to believe the zealot who had raised him had the subtlety to write such note in that beautiful ottoman calligraphy. But he held onto his father's words and onto the look of pride he had seen in his eyes for a few seconds. And he understood why every single field agent was willing to lay his life for the man they called The Chief.

He knew he was supposed to dispose of the paper once he'd read it, but before he did, he memorized it. Whenever he felt he couldn't possible go on, he recited the words that his father, the paradigm of the perfect agent, had never dared to speak directly to him. And now, once more, he needed the comfort they could afford him. For here he was, making his way in a darkened highway towards the hiding place his unnatural boss had instructed him to find. Driving a discreet dark van, with an unconscious girl he'd crippled so she wouldn't escape strapped to a wheelchair in the back. A girl who was supposed to be one of the most dangerous weapons the world had ever known. A girl he had fallen in love with. The worst part was that, as crazy as that sounded, it wasn't the craziest thing he'd done in his life.

So he pulled to the curb, killed the engine and with the rising sun as his only witness he spoke out-loud the words that had become a prayer and were the closest thing he had to a legacy. His father's letter had started with a quote of Dante's Divine Comedy:

"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. I know this isn't what you want to hear. No when you've just made it to the ranks of the best and the proud. No when you've sworn your oaths to the flag and your heart is filled with patriotic joy. But you should abandon all hope, for you've taken the first step down the slope to hell. If you didn't know it, now it's too late to turn back. In this wretched trip I'll be your Virgil, I'll hold your hand like a father holds his son, and I'll walk you through each circle and keep you walking 'til the very end.

I could give you pretty speeches, but those won't get you through the sleepless nights when you will wonder what you've become and how can you carry on living after what you've done. Believe me; you'll get plenty of those after a few months in the service. All I could tell you about the greater good, the bigger picture, the reasons of state, won't help you get through those nights. We'll leave those empty words for the politicians.

This is the first and only advice I'll give you: Forget what you've learnt on your mother's lap. Forget all you know about good and evil; except this: faced with true evil, good is powerless. How else can it be? Good can't get its hands dirty and remain good. I promise you, you'll get your hands dirty and, if I do my job right, you won't be powerless.

Have you ever seen the sheepdogs watching over the flock? From afar they are not that different from the wolves. The flock fears them but tolerates them because, faced with the threat of the wolves, they are the lesser evil. I'm not here to turn you into a hero and you weren't meant to be one of the lambs.

I won't ask you to be ethical. I'll ask you to be efficient. You'll remain unseen. You'll bring the wolves down. You won't get thanked or praised. If the flock were to see you, they would run from you, for you're about to become a thing to be feared. That is the only way to fight the enemy you'll have to face. And there will come a time when you are unable to meet your own eyes in the mirror. That's when I want you to remember these words: Son, what I ask of you is the greatest of sacrifices, for the sake of the flock, I ask you to become the lesser evil."

_**Next on Kira's Kingdom: Scroll 12: Without Breaking Some Eggs, Kira decides to send Mac and Red to carry out his plans while he follows Black's trail. Near's safe house is once more under attack. Will the Shinigami's champion do something about it?**_


	12. Without Breaking Some Eggs

_**AN: Thank you Nix, I'm glad that in spite of the creepy book you still like the story. Randomness, thank you for your kind words and, yes, he's back. And he is because for bringing someone from the dead to fight Kira he seemed like the logical choice and, also, because that way I indulge my fangirlish fantasies -wink-. This chapter was beta read by Red and Vanushka. I'll try to address the things they pointed out. First, Red, you are right, the **_**R**ussian** A**ssociates** W**eb-hosting _**is the **_**R**ussian **B**usiness **N**etwork._** RAW, just as its real counterpart, is an unabashed thieves' den that provides bulletproof hosting for cyber-criminals. Plus I'm taking your advice and making their connection to the Bratva (Russian mob) explicit. Vanushka, your assumption that I'm basing my Russian mobsters on a Cronenberg film is wrong. I took the Code of Thieves from Alix Lambert's documentary of life in Russian prisons: 'The Mark of Cain' (2000) – there's a link to the trailer in my profile-. Second, my friend, most of the concepts and dates mentioned in the Wammy's confessional are real. I know true premises can lead to a false conclusion if the inference method's invalid. Cut me some slack, girl! I'm not arguing for the truth of it in real life. So what if it's a blatant fallacy? It rings true and this is fiction. Oh, and I changed the name and some of the circumstances surrounding the figure of Jake Rudnick. Also, I'm attributing certain research to the character of J.D. Bromwich which belongs to someone else. I only did it because that way it works better in the story and because I have my scruples about using real people in fics. Another piece of trivia, in the HTR 13th tome of DN L's blood type is reported as unknown. Finally, I'm very thankful for the time you took to beta read me, but, geez, guys, tough crowd.**_

**Kira's Kingdom**

**Scroll 12: Without Breaking Some Eggs**

_**12.1: Cabal**_

_Holly Martins: "Have you ever seen any of your victims?"  
__Harry Lime: "You know? I never feel comfortable with these sorts of things. Victims? Don't be melodramatic."  
Holly Martins: "You used to believe in God."  
Harry Lime: "Oh, I still do believe in god, old man. I believe in God and Mercy and all that. But the dead are happier dead. They don't miss much here, poor devils… Don't be so gloomy. After all it's not that awful. Like the fella says, in Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo Da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love - they had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock."  
From the speech delivered by Orson Wells in Carol Reed's 1949 noir film 'The Third Man'_

_Czech Republic, April 20th 2019; a rogue hangar near Kutná Hora_:

"Hullo, Light. What's with the funeral face? Ah, you were always such a sour loser." Ryuk said with laughter creeping to his voice though he was trying to keep a straight face. Light's wrath was amusing.

As soon as the Death God spoke, Light understood what had happened. That silly girl had probably gone to play with that oversized Lego of hers and she'd walked straight into their trap. Light felt a rush of anger but just as quickly he cooled down. This made it all easier. Ryuk was in it. As usual he cut to the chase. He'd never bothered wasting his charm with the Shinigami. He asked: "Where is she?"

Ryuk thought it out for a while, wondering if he could use this to get free. Finally he decided that telling the truth would be the best, when Light figured out he didn't know where his girl-Death Note was he would be more than angry. Ryuk said: "I dunno."

"Don't play games with me. You know she was abducted and you know who took her."

"Hyuk, I won't deny that. Prob is I can't think on an empty stomach." He pointed at himself. He had his legs passing over his head and was rocking back and forth in a rather good impression of a blue winged rocking chair.

Light walked to the table where they kept a bowl of apples. It was just out of Ryuk's reach and they changed the fruit twice a week. He picked one up and threw it to the Shinigami.

Ryuk catch it and swallowed the apple in one bite. With a deep growl he demanded: "More."

Light picked up the whole bowl and threw the fruit at the Shinigami's feet.

Ryuk scrambled to the floor and began shoving the shiny red spheres into his mouth. He crunched and swallowed the fruit, spitting out pips like some deranged machine, until there wasn't one left. When he was done he lied on his belly with his head turned sideways on the cement. His legs and arms were spread out, his wings shacking slightly, like a dog's tail when the animal is happy but isn't sure its master is too. Juice dripped from his mouth and chin. He lied still for a while and then he folded his wings into the small sacks of sturdy blue skin hanging under his shoulder blades. He rearranged his shirt over his wing-pouches and rolled 'til he was lying on his back. He licked his hands clean. Then he began passing his serpentine tongue over his fangs to fish for the odd bits of pulp that had gotten stuck on them. When he finished with his grooming he closed his eyes and sighed contentedly.

Light crouched besides him, careful not to step on the circle trapping the Shinigami. He repeated the question: "Where is she?"

"I've told you. I don't know," Ryuk said with a sleepy voice while smacking his dark purplish lips.

Light got up and started walking towards the door: "I hope you've enjoyed your aperitif, it's going to be your last meal."

"Wait! Don't go." Ryuk sat up and extended a hand towards Light. He hit the seal that crackled. Ryuk pulled his hand away, wincing in pain. Still grimacing he said: "I've been thinking a lot about it and I'm willing to help you."

Light raised and eyebrow with a one-sided smile on his handsome face: "Really?"

"Not just with this, but with all we've been talking about in the past few weeks."

Light narrowed his eyes: '_What are you trying to do, old trickster? You are out of your depth here. Is this part of the strategy of the Shinigami who has stolen my weapon? Is he trying to get me to accept a Trojan Horse? If that's the case, can I still work this to my advantage? Or do you really know nothing and you're just trying to save your own skin? Can I use you even if I know you are not to be trusted?'_ Finally he said: "Good, then tell me all you know and after I've sorted this out we'll start planning how is it that you are going to help me."

Ryuk hesitated for a few seconds. He was unsure of how much it was safe to reveal. Was it wise to try to outsmart a man like Light Yagami? Even if he was only going to pretend to be helping him, Kira might end up taking advantage of him. He dreaded the thought of playing a part in the downfall of his people. Then he decided that Light was probably going to find out what he knew sooner or later. If he wanted to be useful and get on his good book he might as well tell him all he could tell him outright. He had no choice but to cooperate.

'_If I refuse, it's back to square one. I can't even consider having to do without apples again," _he shuddered_: "I need the apples. What good am I to anyone locked up, twisting and turning in pain? If I'm free, I can try to do something. Playing along might be my only chance of helping the Shinigamis; no that I owe them anything, especially after the Synod left me to fend for myself. They can't get all preachy on me once I get back, if I get back at all!'_

He frowned, opened his mouth and then he sang like a canary. The only part he left out was something that'd been puzzling him. Something odd was going on with the man they'd called boss. At first the name Ryuk could see above of the lifespan had been simply 'Boss'. Then something weird had happened. When the girl-Death Note was brought to the ground and he had said they shouldn't harm her, the name Marek Černý-Vlcek had replaced the other. Then the girl had fainted and the Shinigami in the shield had appeared from thin air, saying something Ryuk hadn't been able to hear and the name had changed to Mehmet-64. A flickering name, how curious, he thought that, since he couldn't provide an explanation, it would be better to lie. So he'd said that the man was wearing a mask.

Once he'd told Light all he knew he laid on the floor. He faced another moment of doubt before falling sleep. Then he'd thought all he could do was hope for the best.

_**12.2: Body Like a Temple**_

"_Your faith for bricks and dreams for mortar  
In the temple of love you hide together  
Believing pain and fear outside  
But someone near you rides the weather  
And the wind that'll blow could throw your walls aside"  
From the song 'Temple of Love' by The Sisters of Mercy_

_Czech Republic, Prague's-Staré Mesto (old town) April 27th 2019; an antiques shop in Karlova Street:_

Light shouted: "What do you mean they are all dead ends?"

Red looked at him nonchalantly and said: "Uh, I dunno. That they are all dead ends?"

Kira was shacking with anger and if looks could kill, she would've dropped dead. Mac went to sit by her side and put a hand on her knee, silently sending her the message that it wasn't the time to mess with the big boss.

To let him know she got it she'd brushed her cheek against the spider web tattooed on his shoulder, warm skin against cold skin. And then she began listing each item raising a finger for each one she mentioned: "One, the book leads nowhere. It was purchased on-line from a librarian that deals in rare items. They used a bulletproof server for the transaction. We haven't been able to hack it, yet. It's run by RAW. They are one of the most infamous hosts of the web. Annoying assholes…"

Light interrupted her ranting: "Is that all you have on the book?"

She pointed towards her laptop and showed them: "The book was paid in cash upon delivery by John Doe. Well, they didn't actually use the name John Doe, but the guy who paid for it was so nondescript that the deliveryman can't remember anything useful. Let me tell you, these guys have a sense of humor. Sandy Claw's human helper signed as Bezcit Umužikráčen which sounds a lot like bez citu muži kráčení, dead men walking in Czech. The address they gave belongs to a small company which just a few hours after the purchase went bankrupt. All is untraceable. Two, I suspect Mr. Doe was Black's boyfriend 'cause Mac run into the same trouble I did. The guy is a ghost, no offense. Mac's followed a paper trail which leads nowhere. First, he decided to go check the place where Black spent most of her time. So he went to the library. Did it hurt, Hon?" she said facing him with her tongue sticking out. Mac feigned outrage and then pretended he was about to bite her. Red shut her mouth tightly. Mac didn't pull back. He leaned forward and nibbled her lips. Red giggled: "Just joking. In the library he charmed a librarian and the gal let the cat out of the bag. It's all so very romantic. Black and her guy sitting on a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N- G," she sang happily.

"Stop that now," Light spoke calmly without raising his voice and Red felt as if someone had walked on her grave.

"Supposedly he's a teacher at the University. Mac got everything he could on him. All is bull, address, a hotel; social security number, belongs to a man who lives in Sweden; cell phone, was a prepaid and now it's cancelled. Not all is lost, you might say. We have eye-witnesses, don't we? Well, we don't. Mac got a picture from the University's files and no one can recognize him. Not the people in the library, not the people at the hotel from where the flowers were sent. Not anyone in Black's usual hunts. This is an airtight identity but if you scratch the surface the guy doesn't exist. At the University they remember a tall dark blond. At the library and at the hotel he was a stocky graying brunet. And in the last listed address he had before the hotel he was a medium-sized bronze haired sportsman. I thought we were dealing with Charlie's Angels but then Mac got me some security tapes. Crafty jerk, he changes his complexion, height, hair and eye color; he even changes his features, the whole shebang. But he isn't made out of clay, so he has to keep within a range. I've done some anthropometrics and I'm fairly certain it's the same guy in disguise. Problem is that even if we knew how he really looks like, finding someone when you just know his face is almost impossible. Whoever he is, he's good. Three, the names you got from that Ryuk guy are useless. It's not my fault, though. Five minutes after you called I had their pictures, their addresses, bios, everything. I even know on which side of their trousers they hang their unmentionables- by the way, both gentlemen dress left."

Mac started to laugh and with great effort he was able to cover it behind a fit of coughing.

"Is this relevant?" asked Light.

Red batted her eyelashes innocently. She didn't want Ghostie to go raging bull on her: "Not really, except to prove that I was thorough. Anyways, I got the Irregulars to pound at their door and after roughing them up a bit they said all they knew, which is to say: nothing. We can kill them but I just don't see the point. And we didn't even bother mentioning Shinigamis, these guys were kept in the dark. Four, the only thing we got out of those fucktards is the reason why Black hasn't been able to escape. They've paralyzed her using Botulinum toxin. I know this'll sound weird but that's actually a good sign. The way that crap works means they're planning to hold her for a while and that they didn't want to cause her permanent damage. We also know where they did it, but after searching the place we found very little. Except for some hair and epithelial tissue to prove she was definitely there. We didn't find traces of her guy. What we found of her was left there on purpose, all else was erased. It's as if he didn't exist."

"Have you managed to get anything from the Death Note tracker?"

"Not much. They've gone east, towards the border with Poland. As you know I've geared the Death Note tracker to work with a system analog to the GPS. They've already launched all those satellites with atomic clocks so it seemed the cheapest way of doing it. In case you don't know it, GPS tracking works…"

Light interrupted her: "By a process called triangulation. This is a well-known technique for measuring the distance to an object by looking at it from 2 different locations when you know the distance between those locations. Kids in middle school are taught the basics of it. In the case of GPS tracking it's done by satellite transmissions. In order for it to work, it is necessary to have both access to the Global Positioning System and have a receiver. The receiver is able to get signals that are transmitted by GPS satellites orbiting overhead. Once these transmissions are received, location and other information such as speed and direction can be calculated. Everyone knows this."

"Yeah, I bet that discussion is the rage around watercoolers and coffee machines everywhere. And actually, to deal with error, you need three or four satellite ranges. Anyways, when you're tracking Death Notes you face two problems. The first is that DNs emit an EM field, they send, they don't receive. In a sense the DN tracker works backwards, I mean from normal GPS. And it works 'cause the GPS satellite constellation works both ways, sending and receiving radio signals. In fact that feature is a basic part of their functioning. The GPS worldwide satellite control system consists of five monitor stations and four ground antennas. The monitor stations use GPS receivers to passively track the navigation signals of all 29 satellites. Information is then processed at the master control stations, operated by the 2nd Space Operations Squadron at Schriever Air Force Base. That's in Colorado. And, though they aren't aware of it, I've sneaked a backdoor into their computers. The info from the monitor stations is used to update the satellites' navigation messages and transmit commands through ground antennas using an S-band signal. I used Galileo to convert the DNs EMF into radio signals in a frequency that works with the GPS system. But, since we're working the other way around and we can't replicate the whole system at a reasonable cost, the error margin is bigger."

"We already went through all this when we first designed the Death Note tracker. So what are you getting at?"

"Patience, Ghostie. I mean Kira. The second problem is a little bit more difficult to deal with. DN's signals are easy to jam. Since GPS was first conceived as a military technology jamming it is not a new idea. To build a conventional jammer you need to bring out the big guns. But to jam DN's signals when they aren't working, all you need is an effing tree. This Shinigami is creeping me out. Mr. Reaper must have some understanding of this 'cause they've traveled to a place where there are lots of wilderness. So, unless they make a mistake and use her, all I can tell you is that they're somewhere near the Krkonoše mountain range. I wouldn't count on them making a mistake. That's why I've done my own calculations tracing the highways that go east and matching them to whatever signal we've managed to get. I've narrowed it down as much as I could and I think they are in the Hradec Králové Region. It's not a heavily populated area. But there are lots of towns and villages where you can hide. Also they have three very well known mountain resorts in the zone: Pec pod Sněžkou, Špindlerův Mlýn and Harrachov, so tourist traffic is heavy and strangers can travel unnoticed. I know it sounds desperate but we are desperate so I decided to go and check the guest lists looking for any name that was even vaguely related to darkness or death. There weren't any. That only leaves us with 1,873 square miles to explore, of which roughly 30.8 percent are forested areas. Even if we put all our resources into the search I doubt we could find them before they move on. Oh yeah, after a week of working our asses off, we got nothing, zip, nada. And that's what I'd call a dead end; or a waste of time, your pick."

"You're wrong. We've manage to learn plenty about our enemies, both the Shinigami and his human minion. Now we have good reasons to believe that there are only two of them. The way they work is smart but it indicates they have limited resources. And the Shinigami leader is willing to use humans but he won't trust them."

Red shrugged her nose and pointed out: "Why he? It could be a girly Reaper."

"For all I care it could be a transvestite."

"Sexual dimorphism might be hard to determine. They are like yoo-hoo, all over the place with the shapes and sizes." then she went silent after looking at Light's face.

"As I've said, its gender is irrelevant. But let us assume that we're dealing with a male. He is planning something other than abduction. The book and the way he's paralyzed Black tell us these. Also he knew how to get Black to trust him enough to lower her guard and he knows we have a DN tracker. I doubt he can read minds. If that were the case, he and his lapdog wouldn't have to work so hard at covering their tracks. So he must have been spying us. I suspect he's doing it through the hole in the Shinigami Realm. For now and until we find a way of communicating in a secure way, we're going to work under the assumption that we're being watched. Nevertheless, you were right about something. We've diverted enough resources trying to find that foolish girl. If we want Kira's Kingdom to become a reality we need to focus on it. It's clear they have no intention of killing her or of ratting us out to L's heirs. If he had wanted to do that, Black would be in a grave and you'd be in prison by now. So it seems that he is eager to enjoy Black's company. We are going to let him, for now. Immovability must have turned her into a very pleasant guest."

Mac laughed: "I wouldn't want to be in those bastards shoes."

Light let out a cruel laugh: "Let his sin be his penance," then he shrugged philosophically. "Now our top priority will be dealing with L's brood. Then we can focus on teaching those Shinigamis not to mess with Kira. We can't neglect the judging either. John, give your Note to Red. Then you'll take a team of the Irregulars and deal with Near and all the Wammy's orphans in his safe house. All bets are off. I want them dead; even if that means innocents will have to pay for sinners. You can't make an omelet without breaking some eggs. I don't care about Near's henchmen, without a leader they won't be able to do a thing. The sooner we do this the sooner White will be free to aid us. We are going to buy some time. While the people at Wammy's are busy looking for a successor, Red is going to fly with me to London. Then, White will join us. She and Red will do the Death God's Eyes trade. We are going to kill the hidden heirs even if we have to burn all the orphanages' to the ground."

"No," said Mac and held Red's hand.

Both Light and Red looked at him, surprise showing on their faces. Then Kira asked: "What did you said?"

"Red isn't going anywhere with you."

"You can't possibly be this stupid."

"Why? Am I stupid 'cause I don't want her to lose half her lifespan just so you can speed things up? 'Cause I don't want her anywhere near a guy who can keep children locked in a mousetrap, putting their lives at risk just so he can get 'the truth' out of them? Or is it 'cause I don't want her to face monsters that are willing to turn humans into books and potted plants? No, it must be 'cause I don't want her to go anywhere with you; a bastard who throws people away when you can't use them no more. Yeah, right, that must be it. I must be stupid 'cause I think that you, Near and this Shinigami guy are jerks who see the rest of us as dispensable tools. I know your kind, my father's just like you. 'Course y'all think that you're better than my dad, don't ya? Y'all have good reasons for doing what you're doing, no? Like justice and world peace, so you wet your hands in blood without losing one wink of sleep over it."

"Who do you think you are to talk to me that way?" said Light taking a step towards Mac.

Mac stood up and they slowly circled each other, taking each other's measure. Then he smiled and looking Light in the eye he said: "I'm a crook and a thief. That's nuthin' to be proud of, but at least I don't hide behind big words. And never in my life have I harmed anyone who's unable to defend himself. When I've killed I've done it looking straight into the others bastards' eyes and with the knowledge that if I didn't get them, they'd get me. What about you, Kira? Can you even begin to understand the concept of a clean kill?"

"Mac, don't," Red went to stand by his side and hold his arm.

Mac took her hands off his arm and held them between his: "Luv, I won't let him get you killed."

Red was so scared that she couldn't speak. But Mac held her hands tighter and she knew in that instant that she was willing to follow this man wherever he would take her. So she just nodded.

"Is this mutiny? Because if you think that's the best way of keeping her alive then you aren't just stupid, you're a blubbering idiot."

"This isn't mutiny. I'm not your follower and neither is she. I'll do the job I was brought here to do 'cause I gave you my word. Then we're leaving."

"I'm not letting you risk your life alone," said Red.

"Luv, I don't think I could live if anything happened to you."

"You really mean it?" Red felt a knot in her throat. No one had ever cared for her enough to risk their life for her.

"That's charming. I just hope you two aren't planning on having any children. They won't be able to tie their own shoelaces. I can't let you leave, you know too much. And we need this brat's electronic monster to put my plan in motion according to schedule. That's the only thing that's stopping me from killing you two right now. Push a little further and you'll force me to come up with a way to deal with the drawback."

"You can talk the talk, but can you walk the walk? You haven't got a Note on you right now. Are you prepared to kill us by hand? 'Cause my guess is that if you're solid 'nough to punch me then you're solid 'nough to get your ass kicked."

Light took a sideways step to get some space between them. He looked calmed but was ready to respond if Mac decided to attack. With a scornful smile he said: "Fair enough, then again, you can't know if you'll be able to hurt me even if you managed to connect a hit. And, a question will remain unanswered. Mikhail Ivan Kalinin, I may have to let you leave today. But then what? You can run but you can't hide."

"I can," said Red: "You don't know shit about me. You haven't got a name and you never will. I saw to it before I hopped inside the wagon. Even if you get White to do the Shinigami eyes thingie you won't find me if I don't wanna be found. If you touch one hair of Mac's head then you can forget about buying some time by killing Near. The Wammy's won't have to look far for an avenger. I do know a lot about your plans and I swear I'll bring you down."

Light laughed with his head making an arch until it almost rested on his back: "I tremble at the thought of matching wits with you, brat. Go and offer your services to those fools, if they take them they'll get what they deserve. Before you do, think about this: That won't bring your lover back. And I can also make you the promise that you'll join him before he's done rotting in the ground."

"That's it!" cried out Mac rushing towards Light.

Red stood between them with her arms spread wide: "Stop it! This is pointless."

Light nodded approvingly: "Good to see one of you is capable of being reasonable. Now pack your things and get the Note, we are leaving this place."

Red shook her head from side to side: "Reasonable, my butt! No, Kira. I'm with Mac here. I'm not gonna become your drone. Just see what happens to people who do. But throwing threats at each other won't get us nowhere. I know your kind too. I've shared a roof with assholes like you for as long as I can remember. I know that the only reason you're dismissing Near is because you think you've found a better playmate. But I also understand the importance of winning. Let me ask you one question. If I could give you the chance of defeating the guy who killed you fair and square, without having to kill innocents, would that be a good enough price for us to buy our freedom?"

"Is this a rhetorical question?"

"I'm just asking for a yes or no answer."

"There are other things to consider."

Mac said: "What if I threw in the info that Red couldn't hack? I could give you whatever that Shinigami was trying to hide in that RAW's server."

"But you said you weren't able to hack it," babbled Red.

"I'm not. I doubt anyone can. But I can get the info."

"How?" demanded Red.

"Not now, Luv."

"That still doesn't solve my problem with your Galileo," said Light willing to end the discussion.

Red bit her lip: "I'll give him to you."

"Are you sure?" Mac frowned and caressed her chin with his thumb.

Red gave him a weak smile and whispered: "Yeah, I'm sure. If that's what it takes, he's yours, Kira," she ended up closing her eyes and burying her face in Mac's chest.

"That machine of yours is so complex it would take me too much time to learn to operate it. Let alone control it. In case you haven't noticed, time is becoming a rare commodity to me," said Light.

"Cut the false modesty, nobody is buying it. I'll give you the source code and the blue prints. I'm sure you'll be able to figure out the rest on your own. You're a smart asshole. And you're dead, how's time a problem to you?" Red ended up with a flat tone.

"If I were to accept your offer, I'd need you to answer two questions. If you two have had the key to defeating Near and finding Black all this time, why haven't you said anything before and why are you telling me now? And second, what is it exactly that you want in return?"

Mac opened the tie side leather waistcoat he was wearing and showed them a sepia tattoo on his chest. It was a skull with its left eye socket stabbed by a rose. There was a bee on one of its petals. The skull was set over a crucifix dripping blood. The cross had a crown on top of it and was surrounded with barbwire.

"Guess this doesn't come as a surprise to anyone. I'm a Thief in the Law, a Vory-v-zakone. I'm not a man to be trifled with," he pointed at the skull: "I'm a convicted murderer." Then he traced the rose: "For that crime I 'celebrated' a teenage birthday in the zone."

Red gasped: "You've been in jail!"

"I was born in one and the only word that can do justice to that hellhole is gulag. But yes, I've been there as an inmate too, though I didn't do the time I was supposed to. See these ten barbs in the barbwire, there's one for each year of the prison term I should've served. What I wanted to show you is the most important part of the tattoo. First the crucifix, which is the sign of a prince among thieves. The crown over it signifies I'm pakhan - a leader of a thieves' family. Just like my father and my grandparents were before me. And just like my uncle, who right now is running business for me," then he pointed to the bee: "But what matters to you is that I'm RAW's leader, the Beeman."

Light looked at him through narrowed eyes and Red looked at him with disbelief painted on her face.

Mac laughed and said: "I see you've heard of me, Light Yagami. And the reason why I didn't give you the information of who has Black before is 'cause I don't usually give away my customers, that's bad for the business. And so are you, Kira. We at RAW don't ask questions, that's part of the service we provide. But we like to keep track of what's going on in our backyard. We couldn't help noticing that some of our clients have been your targets. Till now you've limited yourself to killing rapist, pedophiles and murderers but we have no reason to believe that will remain so once you have complete control of the world. And that's why when I stumbled upon your lair I decided to come and keep an eye on you."

Red cried out pointing an accusing finger at his direction: "You used me!"

Light laughed between teeth: "Trouble in paradise? Are you sure you want to do this? You are confessing to crimes that might force me to kill you regardless of anything else. And, right now, I doubt she'd stop me."

"Come on! Man, do we really have to go through the threat and counter threat routine? There's a secure computer in a location only I know. If anything happens to me and I'm unable of login in to my server every 24 hours from that precise IP address, all the information needed to stop you and your heralds will be sent to the chiefs of the top ten organized crime families; several intelligence and police agencies- including the ICPO and, of course, to L's successors. As an additional precaution, since that blue Shinigami told me you can manipulate people before they die. When I log in, a password and a date are randomly generated. Let me tell you that I don't know what they are and that there's no way for me to find out beforehand. In fact, no one sees them, not until the password is sent to me and my uncle on the assigned date. Your Shinigami told me too that you can't manipulate a person to do anything that they can't normally do or to reveal information they don't know. So if I'm dead before that unknown random date and my uncle doesn't log in after I've called him to tell him the password that'll confirm it was really me login in, then the info will be sent too. That's a ticking bomb waiting to explode in your face when you least expect it."

"Clever, but you must realize this will only work as a deterrent before my ascension to the throne of Kira. Afterwards, I can kill you, for there won't be anyone left to stop me."

"Give me some credit, man, that's been taken into account and that's why the date is generated within the next nine months. But I don't think you understand how the Bratva works. Kill me now or any time in the future and then my people are obliged to hunt you down until: one, they manage to exterminate you and anyone remotely related to you. Two, each and every one of them is dead. Or, three, Judgment Day arrives. Since you're going to be trying to kill them too, I think they'll be really motivated to hunt you and your bitches down. But it doesn't have to come to that. I'm willing to negotiate with you. And the reason why I'm leaving aside my best business practices now is that I'll do anything to keep Red safe." He looked at Red apologetically: "I wanted to tell you, Luv, but it never seemed like a good time for doing it."

Red snorted: "Guess we deserve each other. There are some things that I've been hiding from you too. Turn around," she said as she began unbuttoning her sweater.

"What is this? Another striptease confessional?" Kira asked mockingly.

"You wish. Turn around. I don't want you seeing more than you have to. That goes for both of you. That last bit 'bout how you'll do anything to keep me safe was kindda cute but I'm still angry at you, Mac."

Kira muttered that there wasn't much to look at and Mac threw him a cautionary look. Then they obeyed. She grabbed a flashlight from the desk, closed the curtains, took off her top and sighed: "You can look now."

She let them look at her naked back for a few seconds and then she turned off the lights and turned on the UV flashlight. It lighted her skin with a phosphorescent brilliance. She was holding her clothes with one hand and the black light lamp with the other. She had her head down and her eyes half closed. With her short hair and slim built she looked frail and boyish under the unforgiving light. She was all sharp angles and straight lines save for the soft curve of her hips and the small breasts insinuated under the clothes she was holding tightly to her chest. Mac had never seen her showing so much skin. She was very bold when it came to words and terribly shy when it came to actions. He drew in a deep breath as he saw her back was covered with zebra-like stripes. It was a V-shaped swirling pattern that went down her spine, from her nape all the way down to where her buttocks began.

"What are those? Is that a tattoo?" He extended his fingers to touch them but Red pulled away from his hand.

Light denied: "No. Who can make a tattoo that's only visible under black light, and why would they do it? Besides it's too perfect. I doubt they could create a pattern in which every dark skin stripe matched the tone of the others exactly. But I don't see what that's supposed to mean"

"Turn around. I wanna get dressed. I think you've had a good look," she said in a distressed tone, playing with the buttons of her sweater 'til she almost ripped them out.

After Red got dressed she opened a file and printed some pages. Then she said: "Those are Blaschko's lines. You wanna a shortcut to know which orphans can become L's successors, Kira? This is it, shine a black light on them and you'll know."

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific. If I'm going to use this method of yours I need to know everything."

"Lucky me," she sighed defeated. She collapsed on the couch, holding her knees to her chest and asked them in a whisper: "Are you familiar with the term chimera?"

"As in the Greek patchwork monster?" asked Mac as he sat down too. He was feeling dizzy.

Red raised her head and laughed bitterly: "Nope, as in an organism made up of two different sets of DNA instructions. In nature it happens accidentally when two fraternal twins merge in the womb. But ever since in vitro fertilization has been available, there are more cases. It's a rare condition but it can be induced. DNA is a set of instructions for creating and running an individual. One of the instructions DNA has is how dark to make the skin. Some of a chimera's skin cells say make darker skin and some say to make lighter skin. And that's how Blaschko's lines appear. If the differences are big enough they're noticeable to the naked eye, if the differences are more subtle then you need a UV lamp to see them. There are more obvious signs. For example, Pat, the lieutenant of the Irregulars, has eyes which are each of a different color, that's called heterochromia."

Light grunted impatiently: "I think it's evident you've known this for a while, we've already lost too much precious time thanks to you. Get to the point!"

Red inhaled noisily: "The point, Kira? The point is that I never intended you to find out. That I thought that I was entitled to something that was mine and mine alone. I thought life owed me that much." Her voice broke into a shrill: "I mean. What else can I claim as mine when not even my body is entirely my own? Now I'm forced to give away this last inch of me and I think the least I deserve is to be able to tell my story as I want to." Then she turned to Mac: "You can stay if you want. You deserve to know the truth. I'm doing this to keep you safe but I'll also understand if afterwards you want to take back what you've said and leave without me." A grimace of pain flashed over her face and she turned away from them. She didn't give a damn about what Kira might think but she feared what she might see if she looked in Mac's eyes.

He passed his arms around her. He lowered his head so that his chin rested on the top of her head. Pressing his lips on her hair he said: "If you want me to, I'll listen to your story. But nuthin' written here and nuthin' you say is gonna change the way I feel. Call yourself by any name you want. I am who I am and I love whom I love."

Relief ran through her leaving her weak. She leaned against his body and raised her hand, caressing his face: "That's my Mac, always rushing into things. Don't make up your mind just yet. Wait 'til you've heard it all. Look at the pages please. They have the background information you need to understand."

They read. It was a chronology with dates in bold print and facts in cursive:

**1960** _Researchers discover bone marrow contains at least two kinds of stem cells – which are cells that retain the ability to renew themselves through cell division and which can differentiate into a diverse range of specialized cell types._  
**1965** _It's demonstrated that normal human cells in a cell culture divide about 52 times before entering a senescence phase in which they can't reproduce anymore. This is called the Hayflick limit and is thought to be the cause of aging. Many stem cells, as they are undifferentiated, are not affected by it, in a sense they are an immortal repository of DNA._  
**1967 **_Elijah Wammy, son of Quillsh Wammy, is born._**  
1968** _First bone marrow transplant between two siblings._ _This opens a new venue for the treatment of those afflicted with bone marrow diseases, including leukemia._  
**1968** _A British scientist became the first to fertilize a human egg in the test tube. This is the beginning of in vitro fertilization (IVF) technologies.  
_**1970** _Laura Díez, Quillsh Wammy's 32 years old wife, develops leukemia_.  
**1975** _Using tiny straw pipettes, J. D. Bromwich manages to create a morula (advanced embryo) after transferring the nucleus of a rat embryo cell into an enucleated rat egg cell. This opened the door to the hypothesis that cloning mammals using nuclear transfer is possible. This was dismissed as science fiction by many and for years more complex methods were tried unsuccessfully, but in 1996 this method was used to create the first cloned sheep, Dolly._  
**1978** _The first IVF baby is born in England._  
**1978 **_Maximilian 'Quillsh' Wammy, 44, loses his only son, Elijah, in an aviation accident. Shortly afterwards his wife's leukemia relapses. A few months later Laura loses her battle against cancer and dies. With the aid of his good friend J.D. Bromwich, Quillsh establishes a foundation in their honor. After the foundation was set up, Quillsh, a famous inventor, retired from the public eye and began leading the life of a recluse, save for his numerous philanthropic contributions. Though few people know it, the Laura and Elijah Wammy fund is responsible for the research which led to establishing that leukemia originates from haematopoietic stem cells_.  
**31st October 1979**_ L Lawliet, the boy who was to become the world's greatest detective, is born.  
_**1980** _Jake Rudnick, an American journalist,_ _publishes his book 'Playing God' in which he claims a group of scientists he calls Project 50 has succeeded at human cloning. Thanks to the funding of a millionaire - identified only as Max. Rudnick had been the recipient of a Pulitzer Traveling Fellowship after graduating magna cum laude in the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism – the only journalism school in the Ivy League. At the time he was a well known scientific writer and was a recurrent collaborator of the New York Post and New York Times. Although Rudnick claimed he based his work on a true story, he was exposed as hoax in 1981 when J. D. Bromwich, a British scientist whose research had been cited in the book, sued him for libel and Rudnick was unable to produce proof of his claim._

Red let them finish and said: "You see, it was a freak coincidence. But this guy Quillsh had access to top notch genetic research through his friend J.D. And, due to his wife's sickness, he had come in contact with some avant-garde ideas in the field of cell research. He wasn't the sort to just stand and watch her die so he investigated every possibility and came across stem cells. And also, in vitro fertilization techniques; for they were saving her ovum in case radiation screwed them up and she couldn't have more children. So when he lost them, everything fall into place and he was able to do the unthinkable."

It all happened so suddenly that Mac had no time to react. Light grabbed Red and pushed her against the wall. He trapped her with his body and placed his elbow over her neck. He turned towards Mac and said: "Move and I'll crush her throat." Then he said to Red: "Look at me."

Red yelped and closed her eyes tightly.

Light pressed a little harder and yelled: "I said look at me!"

Mac cried out pulling out his gun: "Let go of her!" He didn't dare shoot, though. Not when that bastard was so close to her and could dematerialize at anytime.

Light pressed harder. Mac lowered the gun and Red finally obeyed. She looked at Light with hatred shining in her eyes. He ignored her and examined her face: "There's nothing of him in you, except perhaps the eyes. I always knew there was something wrong with Near and Mello. But what proof do you have that _He_ was a clone?" There was no need to clarify who Kira was referring to. He loosened his grip to allow Red to speak.

Red cleared her throat and muttered: "Proof? Do you really believe these people would leave anything incriminatory behind? And who's talking about clones? That Rudnick guy was on the right track but he got it all wrong. I've told you we're all chimeras."

Light tightened his grip once more.

Red gasped for air: "Ok, ok. The only sure thing would be digging him up but I'll tell you the facts that convinced me. When I got hold of L's file one thing that didn't add up was that in spite of having a very dangerous work his blood type was marked as unknown. He had Japanese ancestry. You know in Japan some people think Blood type determines character so it could be argued that he didn't want to give anything away; but believing that superstitious crap is totally out of character for him. The records are not public. So why couldn't he reveal it? If he was a chimera that's logical, I mean, someone might notice something odd if you have simultaneously an O and a B type. Then there's Elijah, who had Asperger's syndrome. That's in the high end of the autism spectrum. And it's a disorder characterized by poor nonverbal communication skills that usually shows in a relatively blank facial expression and an inability to empathize with others. Elijah showed more affection towards his toys than towards his caretakers, he had several of those since his mom got sick. People with the syndrome have a great eye for detail and can focus obsessively so they tend to accumulate an encyclopedic knowledge in their area of interest from a very young age. In a letter to Bromwich, Quillsh called Elijah his little sage. The boy died at11 and by then he had one of the biggest crime memorabilia collections in the world. Some people who have AS show repetitive routines, little rituals they can't help doing, and physical clumsiness, grabbing objects in strange ways, for example. Still, some others have differential sensory responses. For example: they show an inordinate affection towards a specific taste and an inordinate dislike to some texture. Elijah loved sweets and hated to wear socks. Does that ring a bell? Then I realized that 50 written in Roman numerals is L. Project L, financed by a guy called Max. And there's the way in which a very intelligent and driven man called Maximilian Quillsh Wammy decided to follow L around in a subservient position as Watari. Why would he do that? Could it be because he was a father who wanted to be near L while keeping his own identity secret? I know all of it is circumstantial evidence, but chances are L was a chimera. That works better than an actual clone."

Light looked at her crossly. Then he let her go.

Mac caught her and wrapped his arms around her protectively.

Light smiled derisively: "So much for _kicking my ass_. Eh, ruskie?" Then he turned to Red and ordered: "Explain yourself."

Red massaged her neck and said: "As the people who cloned that sheep back in 1996 found out, clones have their problems. First of all because of cell senescence, think about it as a little timer that counts the times each cell is allowed to split before things go wrong and they start screwing things up so they age and eventually die. When you clone an organism the timer is not reset. You're buying a used car. Normal life expectancy of a sheep is 12-14 years and Dolly lived 6. Using stem cells is a way of bypassing that, those have a free split permanent pass. But those have their problems too. They are fierce individualist. Sometimes they won't comply into becoming specialized cells. They say: 'The hell with this! I don't wanna be a kidney cell'. And they keep replicating in the same exact form they had in the beginning, a bit like cancer cells. That's kindda bad if you are trying to create a kidney under lab conditions, but it sucks big time when you want a multicellular baby. That's why chimeras are a very good compromise solution, you have a run of the mill embryo and then you throw a bunch of stem cells with the DNA you want into the mix. If you want to keep things in the family then you use eggs and sperm of the same parents as the original subject and make the embryo a sibling. That brings another issue why chimeras are better than clones. They have a higher rate of success per egg. It took 277 eggs to create Dolly. So if you have a limited amount of those 'cause you were only able to harvest a few before your wife had to undergo radiation, then clones are really not an option. In early developmental stages the embryo is going to show the stem cells the right way to form a body. You'll retain some of the characteristics of both the initial subjects. Of course this is a leap of faith. There's no way to know which characteristics will come from which subject. And there's the fact that the environment surrounding the baby is going to be different. So that's when genetics leave way to behavioral psychology. The obvious option is raising the kid under controlled conditions that foster the characteristics you want to obtain. It's not an exact replica, but in a sense it's a second chance."

"That's how you see yourself? Elijah's second chance?" said Light raising an eyebrow.

Red frowned and with pouted lips yelled: "I'm a person! And as you said I have little of Elijah in me. Mixing a male and a female in a chimera is tricky. You might end up with a hermaphrodite."

It was a hard thing to surprise Light Yagami, but he seemed surprised, if only for a minute or two. The guy was smart and he caught up almost immediately: "Then who? Ah, of course, Laura. He couldn't resist playing god once more, could he? So this means that to find the true heirs all I have to do is to look at the boys who have the lines on them. But that leaves us with a problem, why were there girls in your heir list? Was that a way of taking revenge from some perceived harm done by your former classmates?"

"First of all, I took a guess based on the hypothesis that the best of the crop by Wammy's standards must be heirs. Basic education is mandatory and grades are easy to find out. And I got it mostly right. Second, FYI, you chauvinistic pig, being a boy chimera guarantees nothing. Some of them flunk the test. But being a chimera does help. Those who manage to stay at the top tier at Wammy's are. Living among them you begin noticing some patterns. In a place where an inquisitive mind is highly rewarded you're bound to ask yourself questions. If you manage to answer them on your own and one day you pound at the administrator's door saying: 'How could you do this to me? Motherfucker!' Then a couple of really big gorillas in black suits and dark shades escort you to a limo. They blindfold you. And all the while you're trying to figure out at light's speed a way of not ending your life in a ditch by the highway. But then they politely asked you if you really want to know the truth. If you answer yes, you're taken to the Archives."

"The Archives?" asked Mac, for some reason that name seemed to have some meaning to him, like a dream you forget once you wake up.

Red didn't pay attention to his question. The girl was too caught up in the tale of her lost innocence: "The Archives are a cold war bunker. The gorillas stay at the door and you enter a cabin like the ones some banks have at their entrances. After they've x-rayed you, you're asked to state your name. If you pass the voice pattern scan, then some robotic hands pop out from behind panels in the walls and take samples from several parts of your body. Three actually, I think that's done to check you have the two DNAs you're supposed to and that you have them in the right places. You enter in the bunker and you find a lot of rooms with rows and rows of closed archives. There's also a well-stocked kitchen. You stay 'til you are able to answer the riddle of who you are. You're all alone but security is tight. Computer attacks are ruled out 'cause they keep the stuff in microfilm. Then there's another catch. You don't know which file is yours. The only file that's easily identifiable is L's. You don't know your real name and there are no pictures, not after Kira. The only photographs are from those who are dead. And then, Wammy's secrets guard themselves. To open anything, even the bathroom doors, you have to swab saliva from your mouth and have it scanned. You may think that you can just go in and come out but it's all a test, you see. And depending on it, you're ranked. You have to be convincing so too little time is as bad as too much. If you just blurt out what you think is the answer without looking for proof, you lose a lot of points. How long it takes you to start posing questions counts too. L was young enough to have to be taken by the hand. Watari did the honors, on a long gone winter day. By sunset they were out. That's really awesome 'cause back then he was the one and only. There's a really corny photograph in the Archives of the little guy and the wrinkled asshole under the falling snow. Bet they had hot cocoa afterwards. Anyways, after you've made it out the gorillas and the limo come back. And you're taken to meet with the Board of Directors. Before you know it you're having an effing job interview. If you threaten to denounce them, they graphically describe to you the treatment a chimera can expect from the authorities, if they were to believe you. But they say they aren't trying to force you to do anything. You can leave anytime you want. Then they hit you with the big-powers-entail-big-responsibilities discourse. If you buy it and want in, then you stay in the orphanage until your services are required. The hard part begins when you have to work to keep your place in the ranking. They call it a meritocracy. I call it cutthroat. That helps warranty you won't tell anything to the others."

"That means that not all chimeras become successors, so your method is faulty."

"Yeah well, you have bad hair. Nobody is perfect. You were willing to kill everyone! This reduces the amount of innocent blood shed. Come on! Shine the light on them and see which ones don't look surprised, those are your guys."

"There's a better way. Grant me entrance to their Archives and I promise you and him a full amnesty."

"Crap! Ok, I think I can find the place."

"That's not good enough. I need to get in."

"You walk through walls!"

"And then I'll be unable to open anything. No, you have to get me in."

"I can't go back there! Those were the worst 5 days of my life."

"It took you 5 whole days?" Light asked, his voice dripping contempt.

"Fuck off! There's a sex bias. You walk in assuming it's got to be Elijah so finding about Laura is not that easy. Not that you would know. You say you knew something was wrong with Mello and Near all along but you never bothered probing deeper into the obvious similarities they had with L. You were too busy being Kira. And that gal Laura was something else. Her parents had been well-regarded socialist intellectuals during the 2nd Republic in Spain. After the Civil War that overthrew the Republican Government they became children of the night. Those aren't vampires. 'Children of the night' is how the rebels against Franco's dictatorship were called. When it became clear that the bastard had arrived to power to stay, they flee to England. Laura was raised as a woman ahead of her time. And she was brilliant, a child prodigy. A kick ass cryptographer, she could decipher about any code in no time. She also had OCD, which might account for why her child had a developmental disorder."

"I don't give a damn about your past lives, Laura. I just want you to get me into L's Archives."

"I'm not Laura! Weren't you listening to what I've just said?"

Before Kira could answer, Mac stated stubbornly: "I said Red isn't going anywhere with you."

"Then you leave me no choice but to kill you as soon as I can."

"You two are the most pigheaded…" she stopped unable to find a word that could convey all the frustration she was feeling. She faced Mac: "First of all, what I do or don't is my decision."

"Luv, you can't seriously be thinking of following this moron to your doom."

"Thank you very much for your confidence, I've never intended to." Then she turned to Kira: "Is that all you've got? Death threats?" there was enough amusement in her voice for Light to smile at her.

"Give me what I want and I'll give you what you want. It's a fair exchange."

She sighed: "Effing blackmail, if you ask me. But we really have no option. I'll do it. Mac, are you on board?"

"You don't have to ask, Luv."

"Give us six months to figure out how we can crack that nut open, Kira, and we'll send you the info in exchange for your solemn word that you won't kill us or try to find us ever again."

Mac interrupted her: "Wait, with this bastard is better to be specific. We want your word that you, your worshipers or the people working for you won't try to kill us or those close to us, now or anytime in the future by any mean whatsoever, regardless of what we may do."

"You can't expect me to sign you a blank check so you can continue committing crimes."

"Look, man, even now I work within borderline legality and if you win there won't be any crime so my business will have to become legal. But, who knows what notion of right and wrong a lunatic like you will enforce? I just want some assurance for me, Red and our family."

Red blushed intently at the mention of Mac and her having a family.

Light looked at Mac through narrowed eyes and finally he said: "You have my word. But you only have three months. I also want the Note you have, plus the information on Black's whereabouts that you're hiding in that thieves' den of yours and she'll surrender Galileo to me. That I want before you leave." Then he paused for a second and finally added: "and if you want the protection to extend to your family, you shall bring me L's file."

Red protested: "I need Galileo to get into the Archives. But I'll give him to you along with the info on the heirs. And what's this obsession you have with L. He's dead. Can't you let the poor guy rest in peace?"

"That's not of your business. And I'll let you use your Galileo but I want the source code to begin studying it. And if you try to cheat me, I'll kill you both. Do we have a deal?"

They weren't going to shake their hands on it so Mac and Red just nodded. Then Mac went with her to her room in case Kira tried to do something while she packed.

Red was trying to decide which plush toys she'd leave behind. She couldn't possibly part with Molly Brazen, the redheaded rag doll that'd been her companion since she was a toddler. And she couldn't leave Purrpledinkel, the purple eco-friendly bobcat made out of soysilk she'd shoplifted when she'd left Wammy's for good. Also, Little Bones Jones, the skeleton pirate boy, was so cute. Then again, Sir Humphrey, the checkered velour elephant, was so cuddly. And Zsa-Zsa, the stuffed boa, was so funny.

Mac said: "Take only what you can carry in a back-pack and your computer. We're taking the bike."

She'd moaned inwardly because she'd done her calculations counting on having some trunk space and now she had to cut down even further. Then what Mac'd said sunk in. She'd looked up and asked: "You're leaving him your car?"

He clacked his tongue: "It can't be helped. Bet that dumbass won't appreciate it."

"But it's your favorite."

"We'll be harder to trace if we go in the bike. And I can't wait to leave this place. Frankly, the only thing I'd miss would be you. That's why I'm taking you with me." He said with a smile.

Red stood on her tiptoes, kissed him full on the lips and, before he'd had time to recover, she'd shoved Molly Brazen and Purrpledinkel along with some clothes in a backpack. Then she'd picked up her scarlet laptop case with white polka dots and was ready to leave.

_**12.3: Votive offering**_

"_The tainted love you've given…  
I've given you all a girl can give you  
Take my tears and that's not nearly all!  
Don't touch me please.  
I cannot stand the way you tease!"  
From Gloria Jones' 1964 hit song 'Tainted Love'_

_U.S. Nevada, the Mojave desert, April 28th 2019, in a safe house near the town of Mesquite:_

White kept her voice below a whisper that was almost lost under the sound of the shower. Yet, her anguish was more than evident: "You said I wouldn't have to do it anymore."

Light thanked the fact that the vapor hid his face or else she might have seen traces of the exasperation he felt. '_Women_," he thought disdainfully, "_even the best of them lose their heads for the silliest reasons. Not two minutes ago she has forsaken half her life in exchange for the Shinigami's eyes so she can be helpful to me and now she goes into hysterics because I ask her to share a bed with her husband. How disgustingly irrational they all are._'

He held her chin with two fingers and made her look at him: "That was when we thought he would die soon. But that didn't go as planned. I need you to verify something. You have to see his skin under a UV lamp. If you can come up with a better way of getting him naked, then, by all means do it."

"I could do it during the medical exam." They were all having one before the MRI scan and she'd been asked to help.

He smiled cruelly: "In the middle of the night?"

"Does it have to be right now," she looked at him pleading.

"Time is of the essence."

"Perhaps if I offer him a massage," now she was gripping at straws.

Light smiled wickedly: "You're going to walk into his bedroom after weeks of living apart, offer him a massage and then just walk away? I know your husband is not the, humph, most affectionate man on earth. But surely, even him… You're a very attractive woman." He finished with a raised eyebrow.

She embraced herself and looked down. She was suddenly aware she was naked: "He's only my husband because you asked me to marry him."

Light adopted the tone one uses to explain a somewhat dumb dog why he shouldn't crap on the carpet: "And you have been so very helpful to Kira. Only you can walk into the lion's den and remain faithful to me. Now I need you once more. No one must see you doing it. You say he's alone at nights. Aizawa has surveillance duty. Once you… get down to business, I know that old prude will turn off the monitors in Near's room. Afterwards, while your husband sleeps, you can look for the marks on him."

Shoulders thrown back and chin up, she asked: "What am I looking for?"

"You'll know when you see them."

She'd been taken back when she had examined Near's back under the blacklight. She'd let the flashlight fall. He caught it mid-air and she'd wondered just for how long he'd been in the room. She couldn't ask him, they had agreed that Aizawa might leave the audio on. And they couldn't be sure if after touching her Note Near might be able to see and hear him.

She walked towards one of the darkened corners of the room.

He followed her.

She looked at him with wide eyes and mouthed the word: _What?_

He traced some letters on the wall spelling the word: Chimera.

She began shacking uncontrollably and, fearing she might give away his presence, Light had kissed her.

She'd been kissed before, by overenthusiastic boys that'd only managed to irritate her with their clumsiness, by a cold husband that left her indifferent, but this was… real. This actually meant something. Trembling she clung to his arms as a castaway would to a piece of driftwood.

He ended the kiss, silently mouthed the words: _Thank you_ and then he pointed towards the bed.

She looked at it forebodingly, when she turned around he was already gone. She put on her nightgown and got into bed, trying not to touch the man sleeping in it. It was no use, as soon as she was in Near had rolled around and passed his arm around her. White had to press her hand over her mouth to prevent herself from screaming.

_**Next on Kira's Kingdom: Scroll 13: Fate Favors the Bold, Red and Mac take on the Archives with RAW's help. Kira orchestrates a final attack on Near's safe house and the Wammy's fight back. The Shinigami's champion makes Black an offer she can't refuse and Marek gives her an unexpected birthday gift **__(that one's in honor of Nix Erebus who just turned 18. Happy birthday, lightbug!)_


End file.
